Accidental Hero
by girlwithoutfear
Summary: Daredevil fic. Some say heroes are born. Sometimes, an event happens in a life to change destiny dramatically. What happened in the hospital after Matt Murdock was struck by the toxic waste that destroyed his sight? Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Accidental Hero

by GirlwithoutFear

A teenager is severely injured when he rushes to the aid of an elderly pedestrian. This is the story of what happened to fifteen year old Matt Murdock after his heroic act.

Matt Murdock is the alterego of superhero Daredevil. The character is owned by Marvel Comics. I don't claim anything. If you have a problem, contact the law firm of Nelson, Blake, and Murdock.

Chapter 1

I vaguely register being loaded into an ambulance; the paramedics try to wash something off me, and I hear them say something about the hazmat team responding to the crash. One asks me my name. I barely get out "Matt Murdock" when I feel the stick of an IV needle, and something coursing through my veins that knocks me out.

-o-

I wake up. Man, it's dark in here. Everything hurts. I feel like someone took a baseball bat to me. I guess I'm in a hospital bed, feel the cold steel rails, the IV in my hand, hear machines beeping loudly. My throat is sore, and my lips feel cracked and dry. I'm really thirsty. I reach up to find my head is bandaged, and my eyes are covered with thick padding. I have no idea what time it is. I need to pee. Someone is snoring right next to me.

"Hello? Anybody?" There's got to be somebody around. This guy who's snoring isn't even going to wake up. I hear footsteps. It's a nurse, I guess. She asks what I need.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Damn, I hate to ask that. But there comes a time when you gotta do what you gotta do. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You're at St. Vincent's hospital. You were in an accident. There will be an aide to come in just a minute." I swallow whatever pride I might have, and wait for someone to help me to the toilet. Her rubber-soled shoes squeak out of the room.

C'mon, man, I gotta go! Heavier footsteps coming into my room. "Ready to pee, are ya?"

"Yeah, man, I'm about to bust." No shit, Sherlock. Get a move on.

"Well, they don't want to let you out of the bed just yet, so you'll have to use the urinal here." He pushes a plastic jug into my hands. "Let 'er rip, and when you get done, I'll empty it." I hear him pull the curtain around the bed. Now the snoring is on the other side of the curtain.

Damn. Is he watching me do this? "I don't need an audience, dude."

He's laughing at me. "Don't worry, I'm standing outside the curtain, nobody's watching. Just let me know when you're done, and I'll come get it."

I fumble with the sheets and whatever this is I'm wearing, a hospital gown, I guess. I find the neck of the jug and...

"Sonofabitch!" I think I'm on fire. I grit my teeth and take the worst piss of my life.

That faceless voice from the other side of the curtain shouts, "Are you all right?"

"Don't yell at me man! Why do I feel like I'm pissing fire?"

"Calm down, son, I'm not yelling at you. Are you done?" He pulls the curtain back a little. "Here, let me take care of that, and I'll get the nurse." He pries the urinal out of my iron grip. The curtain slides on the steel track above me. My head hurts. The snoring continues.

The nurse returns a moment later, and tells me she has pain medication for me. I feel a strange sensation snake up my arm. My bed seems to float out from under me. I think I hear my father talking to someone, maybe the doctor. What the hell? "Dad?" He doesn't answer. "What's going on? Where's my dad?" I think he's here in the room with me.

"He's been downstairs getting some coffee. I'll go get him." The nurse's shoes squeak out of the room again. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, but I try to make sense of what they are saying. My head falls back against the pillow.

"…We did everything we could, Mr. Murdock." I suppose that's the doctor. A fist slams into a wall. I jump at the noise; it seems so close. "I'm afraid it's going to be permanent. We have a few more tests, but I can't make any promises." Am I dreaming this?

"Sonofabitch!" No, I'm not dreaming. That's definitely Dad.

I hear his leather-soled shoes pounding down the hall, and him breathing like he's been running a marathon. At first he says nothing.

"Dad?"

"I'M RIGHT HERE, SON. DOCTOR PRUITT IS HERE, TOO."

"Geez, Dad, you don't have to yell at me." He sounds like a giant hovering over me. My head feels like it's going to rocket off my shoulders. "How long have I been out?"

He draws in a long breath and puts his hand on my shoulder "About a day and a half. They had to do a lot of work on you when they brought you in, and they wanted to keep you drugged up for a while so maybe the pain won't be so bad. You know you're a hero, don'tcha, son?"

"Huh?" My head is reeling. I can't get my bearings. I try to remember what happened.

_It was a sunny spring day, nothing remarkable. I had just come from the library and was on my way home. The last thing I remember before the accident was seeing an old man crossing the street, about to get run over by a truck. I dived out into the crosswalk to knock him out of the way, and at the same time, the truck swerved, hitting a curb and dislodging something from its cargo. Whatever it was, it hit me square in the face, breaking and splashing all over me. I thought I was on fire, then everything exploded like a bomb in my head. I passed out. Everything else is pretty fuzzy._

"I remember something about shoving an old man out of the way of a truck. Is he okay? How long will I have to stay? What happened to me? I want to get out of here and go home. Dammit, this hurts, Dad." I'm rambling; I can't quite get my mind focused.

"He's fine, Matty. The city wants to give you a medal for saving him." I can tell he's hedging, even as foggy as I feel right now.

Someone else clears his throat. "Hello, Matt, I'm Dr. Pruitt. I've been called in to consult on your care. I need to take a look at your eyes. Now hold still while I take off the bandages." He takes down the rail on one side of the bed, and I feel him lean over me, then unfasten the tape and the gauze that holds the pads over my eyes. It sounds like he's ripping sandpaper. I flinch at the noise. He lifts the cotton off gently. "Tell me when you see the light." I hear him click on a little flashlight, I guess.

"Huh?" I'm so wasted from the medication that he has to repeat the instructions. "I don't see anything."

"Well, Matt, it seems that you've got some rather bad chemical burns on your corneas, that's the bulging part at the very front of the eye, from the hazardous material that spilled onto you from the truck. We will have to wait and see if you might be a candidate for corneal transplants. There's also damage to the retina from exposure to radiation. We never have had a case quite like yours. "

The doctor leans back and puts the bed rail back up, and I think I hear Dad sniffling. Dr. Pruitt shuffles his feet and scribbles notes on some paper. He clears his throat again. "I think we need to level with you, Matt..."

"Yeah, I know, Doc. I'm not a moron. I'm fucking blind. No way around that one." I've got no inhibitions. Must be all these drugs.

"Dammit, Matty, watch your mouth, boy. There's no reason to jump to conclusions just yet. The docs say that they need to run more tests, and maybe there's something…"

I cut him off right there. "Be real, Dad. I know what's going on. I heard you talking to the doctor. He said they tried to do everything they could, but all they really did was patch me up. Isn't that great? Maybe I won't LOOK like such a freak. Or do I? Give it to me straight, Dad." I'm pissed off. Dad was never one to pussyfoot around the truth before; in fact he is brutally honest. I can tell somehow that he's lying to me.

Dr. Pruitt takes his opportunity to leave now. "I'll just let you two talk, and I'll be back later, okay?" He thinks he's tiptoeing out of the room, but I hear him just fine.

Dad drops into the chair next to the bed, and it sounds like he's talking through his hands. "Matty, I'm so sorry. It was some company hauling toxic waste on that truck, and that's what got all over you. They patched you up real good, you look fine, but there really isn't much they could do about your eyes."

"Dad, that's not your fault." Since I'm really groggy from the drugs, I haven't had time to process exactly what the repercussions of all this will be. All I can think of is getting out of the hospital, because we have no health insurance, and Dad can't afford this. "You need to sue the hell out of the company, but right now you just need to get me out of here, and back home. This is one noisy place, and it stinks, too."

"You have to hang around a few more days, son. They have to keep changing your bandages for a bit to watch out for infection and stuff. I'll stay here with you." He puts his hand on my head and tousles my hair. His touch startles me.

"I'm not a baby, Dad. Don't treat me like one. Go home; get some rest. I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Okay, Matty. I'll go. Try to get some sleep. I'll be back in the morning." He kisses me on the forehead and walks away. That's really not like him. I figure it would be better to ask him to go home, where at least he could find some solace in a bottle. That's how he deals with things, and I'm sure this time will be no different. Now, how am I going to deal with being blind the rest of my life? I slam my fist against the bed rail. It hurts like hell. That was stupid.

The nurse comes back in, puts some goopy stuff on my eyes, changes the dressings on my head, and shows me where the call button is if I need anything. She tells me that it's time for more morphine. Before I can protest, she injects the medication into my IV. It feels like the bed is swirling beneath me, and soon it knocks me out again.

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

Accidental Hero

Chapter 2

The thing about morphine is that it gives you the weirdest dreams. One of them was about a fight in the schoolyard that happened a couple of years ago. Two of the schoolyard bullies had me up against the fence. They had knocked my books out of my hands, and were stomping my papers in the mud. Dad never let me defend myself, but this time, it was _different_. I grabbed a baseball bat from somewhere and beat the shit out of both of them. Wish I had the balls to do that in real life. They deserve it.

Then I see a shadowy figure, hear a clicking noise, like rosary beads make. A soft voice like an angel, telling me to not worry about all this, that I had been given a "gift". She strokes my cheek, then kisses me. The swish of soft fabric fades out of the room.

Suddenly, it hits me that I'm awake. I feel like I'm adrift in a void of space. Sound bombards me from every side, and the sheets scrape on my skin. Was that last part a dream, or not? I hear machines beeping, people snoring, carts being wheeled down the corridors. What time is it? I need to pee again. I press the call button.

The intercom barks from behind my bed. "What do you need?" I nearly clear the bed rails I jump so high.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Could someone please come help me?"

The intercom crackles again. "Someone will be right with you." Why is that damn thing so loud?

The guy in the next bed must be in a coma or something. I haven't heard anything from him but uneven snoring. He must not have any visitors, either. At least I have Dad.

It seems like forever until that someone shows up. A deep voice appears beside me. "Hey, my name's Nathan, and I'll be here for you this evening. The doctors want to get you up and walking. Hang on just a minute longer, we have to take all the hardware to the bathroom, too." All that beeping stuff is disconnected, and we drag something into the bathroom with us. Nathan tells me it's the IV pole. My head is spinning; I think I'm about to puke. I stumble, and he knows exactly how to keep me from going headfirst into the crapper.

"Whoa there, buddy. I think you better take this one sitting down. Here, turn around and face me, and I'll keep all the tubing and the gown and stuff out of your way." He sits me on the commode. So, now, I'm peeing like a girl? This is some embarrassing shit. My piss feels like molten lava. Suddenly, I wretch, but I have nothing but the dry heaves.

Everything is so noisy. He takes hold of my arm to steady me, and I jerk away from his grasp. I scream, "Get away from me!" and I flail at him with my fists.

He grabs my wrists forcefully; he's a strong guy. "Take it easy, Matt. I'm just here to help." His deep voice is calm, but I'm certainly not. He's not the one who can't see for shit. Everything hurts so much. I can't stand it. I just…lose it. I start wailing, but I just don't give a damn.

"Fuck it all, it hurts!"

"I can only imagine it does, bud. Let me get the nurse to get you some pain meds", he says gently. "Don't try to get up; I'll be right back with a clean gown to get you back into bed. Just hang on to this rail beside you." He puts my hand on the grab rail next to the toilet. I'm still scared I'll fall. I can barely tell which way is up. I'm exhausted.

Nathan hurries back in with the nurse in tow, and they help me get dressed and back into bed. She says that she's got something for the nausea, and I'm headed back to la-la land.

-0-

It's hard to tell dream from reality, except in the dreams, I can still see. When I wake up, there is…nothing. Or is there? I have no idea if I've slept three hours or three days or if it's still daylight or not. But it's not like I thought blindness would be like, exactly. I always imagined it was totally black, like being down in a cave. I am realizing it's not like that at all. It's more like looking at a piece of black velvet that's draped over something. It's sort of soft, but with some edges. Hell, I don't know. I'm still messed up on the drugs. It's sort of like how people can't really tell someone how it feels to be dead. I can't explain this shit. I don't even know if this is how it will stay.

-0-

I'm still falling in and out of sleep. In a little while, the doctors come in on their rounds. It must be morning. "Matthew Murdock, age fifteen, in a truck/pedestrian accident where an unknown substance spilled onto him. Patient has multiple alkali chemical burns to face and eyes. Corneal burns present, with possible damage to the retina and optic nerve, probably due to radiation. Kept sedated for most of seventy-two hours after the accident. Patient complains of extreme pain…"

They talk about me like I'm not even in the room. That's so annoying. "I'm right here, dudes, and I can hear you. No kidding it hurts!"

Dr. Pruitt repeats his actions from before, carefully stripping the bandages off my eyes, and from what I gather he shines a light into them, although I can't tell it. It's more like I sense him waving his hands in front of my face. "Everything looks good, Matt. You're not running any fever, so I'll write the order to discontinue the IV meds and you can be free to roam around the cabin."

"Thanks, Dr. Pruitt." Haha. Right. I don't even know where the freaking bathroom is. Lying asshole. I'm happy to hear them all leave. I guess all the interns were here for the freak show. They keep talking about me out in the hall, and I hear everything.

"...typical alkali burns of the kind you would see with a strong base like sodium hydroxide. The classic signs, as you all could see, are the substance rapidly penetrating the cornea and the breakdown of surrounding tissues through a proteolytic reaction. This has also affected the lens, causing traumatic cataracts. During surgery, we encountered unexplained additional damage to the retina suggestive of ionizing radiation. That led us to suspect that the substance might have also been radioactive, which was later confirmed. Needless to say, this case is highly unusual. We are still waiting on definitive analysis from the lab and verification from the company that owns the truck. There was a biohazard sign on the truck, and the hazmat team was sent to the accident. If the damage to the retina is complete, corneal transplants would be good only for cosmetic purposes. There is currently no indication of any light perception, as the pupils remain dilated and unresponsive. We may need to take him back into surgery for a bilateral enucleation. Because, realistically, he's never going to have any usable vision."

Another, younger voice speaks up. "Dr. Pruitt, don't you think that might be too traumatic at this stage? Is there no other recourse?" Others are murmuring, but I can't quite make it out.

"As soon as we get the results back from the labs, and we watch him for further signs of atrophy, we can talk about that more. Thank you all for your attention." The herd moves down the hall.

What's he talking about? Was he lying to me, and to Dad? I am so pissed off right now. Do they think I'm an idiot? Do they think I'm deaf, too? Do I not exist just because I can't see them? I lash out with a fist, and knock something off the bedside table. The snorer stops short for just a moment, then coughs a bit and resumes his log-sawing. Nothing bothers that guy.

The nurse comes in to put the greasy stuff on my eyes, and sees whatever it was I knocked off on the floor. "Are you okay, Matthew? Don't worry about that; it's just an extra plastic drinking cup, nothing broken." She puts it back on the nightstand. "Is everything alright?"

"Hell, no, everything's not alright! The doctors act like I'm a moron, and then stand right there and talk about me like I'm not in the room. I can't even get to the bathroom on my own, and the drugs make me think I'm seeing things. Now that's a riot, isn't it? Seeing things?"

"Settle down, Matthew. What did they tell you that upset you so badly? I've never known Dr. Pruitt to be unintentionally harsh."

I pound my fists on the bed, and practically hyperventilate I'm so upset. "He comes in with an army of other people, doesn't even say anything about who they are, and after he waves his little flashlight around, he tells me everything is 'fine'. Then he goes out and tells whoever his audience is a bunch of medical stuff with long names that he never mentioned to me. What the hell is a bilateral...uh...enunciation? No, that's not the right word, but I bet YOU know what he meant!"

She gasps. That's not good news. "I probably should let the doctor explain it to you, Matthew, but he's already left the floor, and I know you want to know." Another deep breath. "Was it bilateral enucleation?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure that's it."

"Alright, then. I hope you know I shouldn't be the one telling you this, but you seem to be an intelligent young man, and I don't want you angry with me for it. And please, don't tell anyone that I told you. I could really get in trouble for it. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, nobody will hear it from me." I grip the bedrails, like that will help soften the blow.

"That means removing both your eyes, Matthew." Holy shit! "But before you go off the deep end with this information, let me tell you about a man who I tended some years ago who had a similar thing happen to him, okay?"

"Okay."

"Here in New York City, an artist was attacked in his home by a couple of burglars. Because he only had a few dollars cash in his apartment, one of the attackers threw acid in his face. He was quick-thinking enough to try to wash it out, but he didn't have a way to get to the hospital right away. The acid damaged his eyelids and corneas beyond repair, but he didn't have to have his eyes removed. He was here for a good while. He told me he was going to write a book about it. I don't remember his name; it was a long French name. Anyway, don't let your imagination run wild, just because you heard the doctor mention that term. That's a last resort type of thing."

"Thanks for the honesty." Although, I'm still stunned, and haven't released my deathgrip on the rails.

"Things will work out, Matthew. I need to bandage your eyes again. Is the salve doing anything at all?"

"Still too early to tell. I have such a headache all the time, and everything sounds so loud to me. I think I can hear the blood pounding in my head. I'm still sort of sick to my stomach, too. Maybe it's because I'm dizzy."

"Could be. I'll make some notes in your chart. A lot of times, the doctors forget to ask the right questions, you know?" She winds another bandage around my head, then hits me up with another dose of morphine. I don't like this feeling at all, but it's better than being awake and in pain, I suppose."

"Get some rest, Matthew. I'll check on you in a little while."

I'm drifting away. "And, ma'am? I'm sorry I cursed earlier."

"Understandable, Matthew, and I've heard worse."


	3. Chapter 3

Accidental Hero

Chapter 3

I smell Dad coming down the hall; his Old Spice cologne seems a little overdone. He must have stopped at the bakery, because I smell donuts, too. Glazed ones. My favorite.

"How's it goin' this morning, son?" He still sounds like he's booming.

"Morning? Did I sleep through you coming back last night?" I sit up in bed and stretch. "Well, I got to get up out of bed to take a leak, so it's a start, Dad. Pass me one of those donuts, won'tcha?"

"How did you know…"

"I could smell them as you came in the door. Hurry up, I'm starving here."

He hands me the soft, sticky donut, and as I chow down on it, he says, "The docs talked to me last night. They said they think they need to keep you here for a coupla days or so to make sure everything is okay for you to go home." He takes a bite out of his pastry. I can tell there's something else he isn't saying yet. I have to wonder if it's about cutting out my eyes. With a mouthful of donut, he asks, "You feelin' any better this morning?"

" I feel fine, Dad. Except for the fact I can't see shit." I throw one of my pillows across the room. Patience is not exactly one of my virtues right now. "And we know that isn't going to change any, don't we?"

"S'pose not, and watch that mouth! But they just want to keep you around for a little more to give you some basic rehab here before you go home. You know, stuff to help you adjust."

"Like what? Teaching me to wipe my own butt? I think I can figure that out on my own, Dad."

He sighs heavily, sets the sack of donuts on the bed, and gets up to retrieve the pillow. He puts it back behind me. "You have to relearn some stuff, Matty. It's not all gonna be natural for you. Things are gonna be different now. They said the social worker will be in to talk to you about going to rehab once you leave here."

"Rehab? That sounds like being in with the juvies! A social worker? What am I now, a charity case? Holy shit, Dad!"

"I told you to quit cussing, Matty. These people are just trying to help you. Listen, I havta go talk to a lawyer today about suing that trucking company. Try to get some rest, and I'll be back later today. The donuts are on the table over here." He sets the bag down again heavily so I hear where he put it.

"Whatever." I'm a little more blunt than I should be to him. I know he's right. I just don't want to admit it. I drift off to sleep again. I begin to think maybe they must have some sort of automatic thing for the drugs. I don't remember much about yesterday at all.

-o-

I wake up with a start. The guy in the next bed rolls over, and his snoring rhythm changes. I search for the call button for some help to the bathroom. That crackly intercom comes to life again, and I make my request. I guess the word hasn't gotten around to disconnect this contraption yet.

An aide comes in to help me out of bed, a different one than before. The shift must have changed. "Need a hand there, sport?" He goes through the routine of unhooking all the gear so I can get to the bathroom. "Name's Antoine. I'll be here on the evening shift for the next couple of days." I sit up on the edge of the bed with his help, and Antoine steadies me as I get to my feet. The wheels on the IV pole squeak like crazy. I'm not as wobbly as before, but this is still no freakin' picnic.

He gets me lined up enough so I won't piss all over the wall, and leaves me to do my business. Or at least he waits outside the door. He isn't very far away, which is good, because I don't feel very steady at all. I grab the handrail to keep myself upright, and sling the hospital gown over my shoulder to keep from pissing on that. The IV tubing is in the way, and the gown gets tangled up in that. "Uh, Antoine…I could use a little help in here."

"They put enough tubing on those things to run halfway around the building," he laughs as he gets me out of this mess. "Don't sweat it, 'cause it happens to everybody, believe me." For some reason, I do. He guides me back to the bed, keeping that half-mile of tubing out of the way.

My curiosity has the best of me. "What's the story with sleeping beauty over here?" I motion in the direction of the snoring.

"Oh. That's Mr. Sullivan. They brought him in from a nursing home. He had a really bad stroke, and they are just keeping him sedated. No family left, and at eight-five, I doubt he'll make it much longer. All we can do is keep him comfortable. He can't talk, paralyzed his right side. Poor guy."

"Sorry I made a joke about him. That's a rough way to go." And here I'd been getting irritated by the guy's snoring.

"S'okay, man, I don't think you can disturb him. He's pretty deaf, they said."

I sit on the edge of the bed and ask what time it is. Antoine says it's five in the afternoon. I must have slept through Dad coming back again. "Has my Dad been here? He said he'd be back this afternoon. I didn't hear him if he was."

"He called to say that he got delayed talking to some lawyer, and was running late for his workout. He said you'd understand. What kind of workout is he talking about?" Antoine sounds like he's really interested. Most people don't care; they're just blowing smoke up your ass.

"My dad's a boxer. He's got a bout coming up in a couple of weeks, and he's been training really hard for it. I messed up his routine, I'm sure."

"Really? Would I know him? I follow a lot of boxing around here."

"Jack Murdock. Battlin' Jack they call him on the cards. Heavyweight contender."

"No lie? He's that comeback guy, right? Got a mean left hook. That's your dad?"

"Uh huh. Love to watch him fight. Or, I did." I frown at the thought.

Antoine tries to smooth things over. "Aw, you'll be back at ringside before you know it. Man, that's cool. Hope I get to meet him. Bet he's showed you a lot of moves, huh?"

"Not really. He's pretty strict about me not fighting. He wants me to study all the time. Won't let me go out for sports because he's afraid I'll get hurt. Hmmph. Now that's a real joke." Look where it got me.

"At least you've got a dad who cares enough about you to stick around. Can't say the same about my old man. Who knows where he is these days. Jail? Dead? I've got no idea." I swear I can see him shake his head as he says this.

Antoine helps me climb back into bed, smooths the blankets, and asks if I need anything else. I ask for a little water; he pours me a cup and puts it in my hands. Nice guy; I like him.

I rummage around for that sack of donuts. They're a little stale, but I'm not really hungry anyway. I settle back on the pillows. Then it hits me. Hard. I'm never going to see my dad fight again. Shit, I'm never going to see anything again. I'm going to miss the rest of the school year. How am I going to catch up? I can't read, hell, I'll never get to learn to drive. I am so screwed. I grit my teeth and feel like punching something. The only thing around is my pillow, so I give it hell.

The evening shift nurse comes in and catches me in the act of tearing up the pillow. She asks me to please settle down. If I was five years old, I suppose you would call this a temper tantrum. Yeah, I'm pretty mad right now. It's just not fair!

She comes back with a new round of morphine, or maybe something stronger. Fade to black…ha. I crack myself up.


	4. Chapter 4

Accidental Hero

Chapter 4

The nights and days are running one into the other. I'm beginning to get restless. The nurse comes in to disconnect all the IV equipment, finally, and that's a big relief. It's such a pain in the ass to drag that pole around, and those machines sound like sirens when they run out of the IV drugs. It's bad enough to hear Mr. Sullivan's and everyone else's down the hall. Now at least I can try to go to the bathroom by myself. But not yet. The nurse cautions me to wait a moment for someone to help me.

"Please hurry, ma'am. I really need to go."

She takes pity on me, I guess, because she takes my arm and drags me toward the bathroom. "Here, the toilet is on the back wall to the right, and the sink is to the right of the door. The shower is on the left. There's no door on it, just a curtain. We'll deal with that later. If you need anything, pull the emergency cord on the wall to the right of the toilet. Don't try to get back into bed by yourself. Someone will be here to help you."

"Thanks." I guess. I hear the door close behind me. At least there is privacy. I put my hands in front of me and grope toward the wall. A couple of steps, and I bang my shins on the toilet. Ow, dammit! There's no IV line to worry about this time, so I hike the gown up and aim for deep water. Sweet Christmas! I nearly tear the grab rail off the wall it hurts so bad to pee. I gotta ask the doc about this!

Okay, where did she say the sink was? I turn slowly away from the toilet and put my hands out to find it. I jam a finger on the porcelain. Shit! I shake my head in disbelief that anything so simple as going to the bathroom could be so damn difficult. I find the water and wash my hands. Wait, no towels. I wipe my hands on my gown. Screw it.

I walk into the closed door, and fumble around for the doorknob. I throw the door open a little too fast, and it bangs against the wall. Mr. Sullivan grunts and changes rhythm again. Sorry, dude.

Someone knocks on the door, a very timid knock. She announces herself: "Food service, I have your breakfast. I'm putting it on your bedside table." The tray clatters when she sets it down.

I'm sort of stranded out in the middle of the room. I clutch at the open back of my gown. "Uh, could you give me a little help here?" I muster a lopsided grin. "Point me toward my bed?"

"Sure, not a problem." She tows me over to the bed, turns me around, and unceremoniously plops me down on the edge. She scoots the tray in front of me. "There you go!" And she's gone.

"Thanks." I mumble. I sit on the edge of the bed and smell the hospital version of eggs and toast with bacon. I reach out for the tray and find it has a lid covering the food. When I take it off, I manage to knock over my water pitcher, or something, because there's a rattle and a big splash. Dammit. I grope around for the fork, and find it in a plastic wrapper with the knife, spoon and a napkin and some little packets of something, maybe salt and pepper. When I rip that open, I drop the napkin and it flutters to the floor. I'm really pretty hungry, but my stomach hadn't been growling until Dad brought in the donuts. Maybe I should just eat another one of those because this is becoming a real problem. I don't really know where the stuff is on my plate, so I use my hands to find it. Ick…there's the eggs, scrambled really hard. I locate the bacon and can't believe how salty it tastes. The eggs don't want to stay on my fork, and I succeed in only getting a bite now and then. The toast is soggy, so I leave that alone. There is a carton of milk, but it smells a little rank to me, so I don't drink it. My first meal as a blind guy, and I think I'm probably wearing half of it. I shove the tray away, and it falls to the floor. Shit.

Someone hears the racket, and comes running into the room. "Are you OK?" It's another day shift aide, I assume. Different voice from the nurse. "What happened?"

She's very nice about it, so I try not to be a prick. "Oh, just a little food mishap." I'm thinking _I can't even use a fucking fork anymore,_ but I don't say it. "I'm fine, but I think I've made a real mess over here. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Matthew, we'll take care of it shortly." This makes me wonder how many times in my life I will have to say I'm sorry for something I've screwed up like this. A very depressing thought.

The housekeeper comes in to clean up the mess, and shortly after that, the aide comes back to tell me that the social worker is on the way up to see me. Wonder what that will be about. I'm tired and a little more than cranky at this point. I lie back on the bed and put a pillow over my head because the noise in here is unreal.

-o-

Dr. Pruitt comes back before the social worker gets here. "And how are we doing today, Matthew?" Way too damn chipper. At least, I think he's alone today.

"WE are doing fine, me and the mouse in my pocket." God, I'm being a little bastard. "No, actually, I'm not fine. Every time I go to the bathroom, it feels like Mount St. Helens is erupting in my penis. What's up with that?"

"I...I'm not sure, Matthew. You never had this happen before, did you?"

"Uh, no. Certainly not. I'm sure I'd have noticed it."

"We will have to run some tests to see what's in your urine, then. Next time you go to the bathroom, make sure you use the urinal and just leave it in the bathroom on the floor. We'll see if we can figure this out. I'll start you on some antibiotics if it's an infection, but I don't think it will be. You see, we found out from the lab reports that the substance that contaminated you was some sort of radioactive waste. It's possible that it could have caused this problem, too."

" You think? Okay, next question. Just what's going on with my eyes? What have you done, and what are you going to do?" I'm testing the waters, here, wondering if he's going to tell me what he told the interns yesterday.

Dr. Pruitt hesitates a moment. "When you arrived at the ER, you had chemical burns on your face and eyes. We called in a plastic surgeon to help repair the skin around your eyes and damage to your eyelids. That seems to be healing normally. What we could not fix was the corneal burns. That has caused a cataract-like scarring. We now think that the radiation also caused damage to your retinas, and possibly your optic nerve. I'm sorry, Matt. We can't restore any of your vision."

I let out a deep sigh. "Sort of what I figured. Anything else I should know? Level with me."

"We thought we might have to remove your eyes completely and fit you with prosthetic eyes. Unless things get worse, that doesn't seem likely to happen now. I hope at least that's a little good news."

"Just barely, but I'll take what I can get. Thanks." I turn away from him. "Do you need to do that little thing with the light again today, or can we forget about that?"

"Not much point, really. I will leave orders for the nurse to continue to change your dressing daily, and I'll put in your chart that you can have oral pain medication whenever you feel like you need it. I'll leave that up to you to ask for it, okay?"

"Works for me. Whatever you've been giving me has made me really loopy. I don't like the feeling. I think I'd rather hurt some than be that goofed up." Maybe the hallucinations will stop, too. I'm not going to mention that.

"Let us know if you need anything. I'll speak to your dad later. They tell me the social worker will be here in a little bit to talk to you. We will try to get you home as soon as we can. I know you're anxious to get out of here."

-o-

I have time enough to dwell on just what hell my life has become. I can't read, can't eat like a human being, can't even find the bathroom by myself. How am I supposed to live like this? I am so fucked. I feel like crying, but don't know if I am or not. My eyes sting so much that I don't know if there are tears or just the crap they put on before they re-bandaged me. What's the difference, anyway? I just pull the pillow tighter around my head, and pound my fists into the mattress. I wish I could find my way to the old gym, and take it out on the heavy bag there. I've been doing that for years, without my dad knowing about it. I may not be allowed to fight, but I don't have to be a weenie, either. Or, at least until this happened. Now I'm gonna be the blind kid, an easy target. Shit. Shit. Shit.

My pity party is brought to a screeching halt when the social worker arrives. She is a no-nonsense type of person, I can tell right away. She knocks loudly on the door, and barges right in. She scrapes a chair across the floor, and grabs the pillow off my head. "Matthew Murdock? I'm your social worker, Ms. Dana Fitzpatrick. I'm here to get you set up with some occupational therapy and get the process started to get you into a training program for the visually impaired, as well as orientation and mobility instruction. How are you feeling today?"

"Like I was hit by a truck," I try to joke a little. It goes right by her. She flips open a folder full of papers, and shuffles through them.

"Right. Well, the occupational therapist will see you in a little while to talk to you more in depth about the therapy, and I will set up an appointment for the O&M instructor. You will need to be enrolled in some classes to help you adjust to your new situation, and your school will be advised about your needs when you return in the fall. Your records show that you are a very good student, so missing part of the spring shouldn't put you behind by much. You will of course need to learn to read Braille, and we will give you a Perkins braillewriter and a tape recorder for your schoolwork."

"Wait…wait…wait…will I have to stay in the hospital for this?"

"No, the occupational therapist will work with you for a couple of days here, and then she will set up times to come to your home to help you get used to doing things there, like basic cooking, cleaning, that kind of thing. I understand that you live with your father, and your mother is deceased?" Her pen scratches across the paper as she makes some notes.

"Yeah, just me and Dad. We have a really small place."

"Ok. I have your home address here, and your phone number. I will also speak to your father about the home visits, and arrange to get you to classes at the Lighthouse to learn Braille. Any questions?"

"Who's going to pay for all of this? We don't have any insurance." Boxing had always been my dad's life, but it came with few benefits.

"Don't worry about that. The state services for the blind will pay for your O&M and occupational therapy, and the Lighthouse takes care of the Braille lessons. You'll get all the equipment you need to carry out your day to day living." She scratches some more notes on her page, then shuts the folder. She pushes the chair back, and gets her things to leave. "I'll be talking to you again soon, Matthew."

"Thank you, Ms. Fitzpatrick." She is all business, so I kept my sarcasm to myself. Now I'm a freakin' charity case. Great.


	5. Chapter 5

Accidental Hero

Chapter 5

The social worker is barely out the door when I hear someone coming down the hall pushing a wheelchair. It sounds empty, and I'm right. A tall dude zooms into my room and announces, "Mr. Murdock? Your ride is here. I'm supposed to take you down to occupational therapy." He has an accent like a Jamaican or something.

"Wait a minute…why do I need a wheelchair? I'm blind, not crippled." Talk about adding insult to injury! What the hell was this about?

"Hospital policy, mon. Gotta deal with it. Besides, it's faster for me to push you there than have to guide you. C'mon, hop in."

He guides me to the chair and turns me around. "Sit back, and put your feet up. I'm putting the footrests down for you, and we'll be ready to rock and roll." I do what he says, and then it seems like we're flying down the hallway. We stop suddenly, and I hear him hit the elevator call button. "We're going down to the first floor where the therapy rooms are. By the way, I'm Eddie, one of the escorts here. We're the guys that take you to your various appointments." The elevator dings, and Eddie whisks me into the car. I'm glad it's empty, because I'm really embarrassed about being in this chair.

I can tell by the echoes in here how close the space is. It's a bit claustrophobic, and the sudden drop of the elevator makes my stomach churn a little. The car dings each time it passes a floor, and then we stop. Eddie drives this chair like a madman. We are passing people left and right, when he takes a sharp right into a large room off the main corridor. We come to a screeching halt, and Eddie announces to a roomful of people, "Matthew Murdock for his therapy, Miss Jewel." I bet they're all staring at me, because everyone stopped talking for a moment. They probably think they are being quiet, but I hear a whole bunch of people breathing.

"Welcome, Matthew! I'm Jewel Lewis, your occupational therapist. Everybody calls me Miss Jewel around here. Thanks, Eddie. I'll take him from here." She moves behind me and pushes me to the other side of the room. "First things first, Matthew, or do you prefer Matt?"

"Matt, please."

"Sometimes they forget to give you a robe when they bring you down from the room. Let me get you one. I'll be right back." She draws a curtain beside me, so we must be in a side cubicle. At least she seems to be concerned about my dignity, or just doesn't want to see my bare ass hanging out of this gown. Damn, I need pajamas. Or some sweatpants. I'll have to ask Dad to bring me some, along with some underwear. I gotta get out of these stupid gowns.

The curtain rustles, and she's back. "Here, Matt. Let me put the footrests up on the chair, and you can stand up and put on this robe." I follow her directions, and take the scratchy robe from her. It's made of the same stuff the gowns are, only heavier. Bet it's a real fashion statement, too. I fumble for the sleeves, but I can't tell up from down on this thing. "A little clue, Matt," she says quietly. "Check for a tag in the neckline. When you find that, it's always in the back of the garment. Then you can figure out if you are putting it on backwards or not."

I feel for the tag, and when I hold the robe by that, it suddenly makes sense where the sleeves are. I gratefully put it on, glad to cover that gaping backside. "Now what?"

"Occupational therapy is a big name for learning how to do stuff for yourself at home or work. Today we're going to talk about some real basics. You just got the first one with the tag theory of dressing. A little later, after you learn Braille, you can add tags to your wardrobe so you can tell what color you have so you can match your clothes. Guys are lucky in that they don't have to be so fashion-conscious as the girls."

"Oh, yeah. Real lucky." I sulk back at her.

"Come on, Matt, lighten up! I'm just here to give you pointers on how to deal with stuff. How did you do with breakfast today?"

Oh hell. I don't even want to go there. "Miserably. More on the floor than in me."

"It's going to get better. I won't say that it's going to be super easy, but everybody spills, so don't get all uptight about it. We have a system that will help you with that, too. First, I want to show you how to follow a sighted guide the right way."

"There's a wrong way?"

"Sure, it'll become _your_ job to tell people how to lead you. People tend to want to grab a blind person's arm and tow him around that way." She grabs my arm suddenly. It makes me jerk away from her. "They'll do it just like that, when you least expect it. You'll get banged into all kinds of stuff like that. Here…I'm going to touch the back of your hand, and that will give you the information you need to know where I am. Then you will take my arm, just above the elbow." I do as she tells me. "There, that's perfect! I'll be a little ahead of you, and you will be able to feel which direction I'm moving. When we come to a narrow space, or a doorway, I'll move my arm a little behind me so you can know to follow single file through the space. Like this. Got it?"

I nod yes, and she starts off to another part of the room. I can tell there are things around us, by the echoes in the room, but I also seem to sense the bulk of objects near me. Weird. She leads me to a table, puts my hand on the back of a chair. "What next?"

"The easy way to tell if someone is already sitting in a chair is to put your hand on the back of it. You can tell by the weight, as you pull it out, or if someone else has taken you to the chair, you should be able to assume it's empty. You don't have to worry much about sitting in someone's lap. By finding the back of the chair, it's then easy to move around to the front and feel the seat with your hand so you can center yourself. Try it."

I feel the back of the chair, and run my hand down the side to find the seat. She's right. It's not rocket science. I sit down. "How was that?"

"Excellent. See, not a big deal, once you get some logic behind it. Now, scoot up to the table, and let's work on some eating habits."

I comply, and she continues, " Feel for the edge of the table first with the back of your fingers." She takes my hand and runs it along the edge. She smells really nice. Coconut shampoo. "Once you've found the edge, then carefully slide your hand up to find the plate in front of you. Then you can slide your hand across the top of the table to find your beverage glass and your utensils. You don't want to just reach out across the table, because it's too easy to tip something over that way. Make sense?"

Sure enough, the plate is right there, and as my fingertips brush the top of the table, I locate the utensils and my glass. Didn't knock over a thing! "Yeah, this is very logical. Wish I'd known this at breakfast."

"Well, Matt, you know now. It'll take some practice, but I have a feeling you'll be a fast learner. Just don't get impatient. Now, to figure out what's on your plate. The best way is to use your fork, and sort of pat your way around on the food to get a general idea of where everything is. Sometimes you can rely on the clock system to locate things, if someone will tell you that the beans are at three, the potatoes at six and the meat at twelve, it's a little easier. We have some fake food on the plate, for practice. In this case, the meat is at twelve, the potatoes are at four, and the beans are at eight. Use the fork to locate everything."

I pick up the fork and pat around the plate. Yep, there it is. Much less messy than feeling for it with your hands. Then it hits me. "How do I cut meat?" That seems an impossible task.

"We aren't going to go into that today, because the hospital food will be things that you won't have to cut. But tomorrow we will practice with some real food at lunch, like how to manage peas or corn, and how to cut a steak. It won't be a T-bone, but it will be real meat, not like that mystery meat they serve in the school cafeteria." She laughs. "We'll have you up to speed in no time."

"I wish." I just can't quite catch her optimism. Miss Jewel seems very light-hearted. I don't think I'll mind working with her.

-o-

Eddie comes back for me, and once we get in the elevator, I notice him moving the wheelchair back and forth like he's "revving" it in place. Weird. As soon as we get to our floor, the door is barely open before he's got me halfway down the hall. "Whoa, dude! What's the rush?"

"I'm practicing, mon. I want to be on the Jamaican bobsled team." He laughs. "Think I can make it?"

"I think you have almost four years to practice, so just don't dump me out, okay?" Funny dude.

I don't mind asking him to point me toward the bathroom, and he obliges me. Whatever was making me want to tear the plumbing out of the wall when I go must have gotten through my system now. Thank goodness. When I come out, a nurse is waiting for me with some meds and lunch. Thankfully, it's a grilled cheese sandwich and fries, so this time it's a lot easier to handle. There's a cup of jello with fruit in it, too, and that poses a little bit of a problem with the wiggle factor. The milk smells ok this time, so I drink that. By the time I finish, I'm a little tired, so I get back in bed and fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Accidental Hero

Chapter 6

I don't even have time to dream. Someone else has come in my room, and I wake up to him calling my name. "Mr. Murdock?" To me, that's my dad. It must be some sort of hospital protocol, because they keep doing that here. "I'm David Bryant, your orientation and mobility instructor, or O&M for short. How tall are you?"

I wonder what that has to do with anything. "Uh, five foot nine, I think. Why? And please, call me Matt."

"Okay, and you can call me Dave. No need to be formal, and we will be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks." Sure, he'll see plenty of me, but I won't see squat of him. Geez. "Stand up beside the bed, Matt, please."

I slide out of bed, and my feet hit the cold floor. I need to ask Dad to bring me some socks, too. I hear a click on the floor, and it feels like Dave is right in my face, but he doesn't say anything just yet. Another click or two, and then Dave puts a skinny stick in my hand. "There. That's about the right length for you. We might have to change up if you have a really long stride, but that's a good start."

"What's this?" I ask even though I'm pretty sure what it is.

"It's a one piece fiberglass cane. I'm going to teach you how to use it to get around on your own."

"No way, man!" I'm suddenly so pissed off that I throw it down and hear it roll to the far side of the room. "I might as well wear a flashing neon sign that says 'Blind, help me' around my neck." All I can think of are the old guys near the subway that I've seen with tin cups or a hat for people to toss money into while they play beat up guitars. I'm going to be labeled just like that. That's all people will see if I'm carrying one of those white canes. I'll just be the poor blind guy that everyone avoids. I ball up my fists; I'm so angry that I'm shaking.

Dave turns to pick up the cane. He's probably seen this same thing dozens of times, and he knows how to respond. "Matt, look. I know what you're thinking: you believe people will pity you and you'll be embarrassed if you use a white cane. Let me set you straight. Once you learn how to navigate using your cane, you can go anywhere you want, and you will be more independent, not less. Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't want to be stared at, and using that damn thing will be like waving a flag for people to gawk." I can tell he is trying to loosen me up. I'm not buying it just yet.

"No they won't. Actually, once you get proficient with it, you'll feel like you can part the sea like Moses with it. People will move out of your way, and you can have the personal satisfaction of slapping a few people on the ankles if they don't."

Maybe he has a point there. I almost grin at the prospect of taking it out on some pedestrians. But I still don't get how I will be able to go anywhere by myself with just a stick. "Why can't I just get a dog? He could get me where I need to go."

Dave sighs slightly. "Matt, you can't even get a dog until you have good cane traveling skills. They won't even talk to you about it. Besides, the dog doesn't know where you want to go. You have to tell him where you want to go. That's the orientation part of things, getting to know your surroundings. The cane becomes an extension of you, telling you all kinds of information. You just don't wave it around in front of you. It doesn't work that way. We use a method called 'structured discovery', and with that, you learn how to interpret what information that cane is giving you. Now, come on, let's get started. Hold out your hand, palm up."

"Which hand?"

"Your dominant hand. Are you right or left handed?"

"Left."

"Okay, then hold out your left hand, palm up." He puts the cane in my hand, with the end of the handle very close to my wrist. "Now, close your fingers around the handle, like you're holding a golf club."

"I've never held a golf club." Who does he think I am, some rich kid from the Upper East Side with a lawyer for a father? If he'd said to hold it like a baseball bat, I'd known exactly what he was talking about.

"Never mind about that. It's like this." He shows me what he means. "Now I want you to let the tip of the cane touch the ground lightly, then open and close your hand, using a loose grip, and you will feel that the cane will swing side to side almost by itself. You don't have to use much arm motion. Hold your hand right in front of where your belt buckle would be. Try it."

Dave keeps his hand on mine to make sure I've got the motion right. I open and close my hand like Dave said. Wow…that actually works! "I thought I'd have to swing it around more." I can hear the metal tip scraping the tile. I'm a little surprised at how long this cane is. I expected it to be shorter, almost like a walking stick. I can tell that it reaches well out in front of me.

Dave laughs. "No, you don't have to flail it around. Your hand does most of the work. The object is to get an arc swing with your cane that is at least as wide as your shoulders. And don't drag the tip quite so much. You just need to barely glide above the surface, hitting at each end of the arc. That's called a two point touch. I'm going to stand in front of you, with my feet spread about as wide as your shoulders." He lightly touches me on both shoulders, then backs away a little. "Okay, now, swing your cane, _gently please,_ so I don't get bruises, so that you touch the inside of my shoes at each end of the arc."

I swing the cane like he says, barely tapping the floor when I hit his shoes, and it makes real sense how this works. I know it's going to take practice. Guess I've got a lifetime to work on it.

"You're doing great. Now, I'll move out of your way, and I want you to step forward. You'll sweep to the right as you step out with your left foot. Then you sweep to the left as you step out with your right foot. The point is that you are reaching out to check where your next step will fall. We use canes that are long enough to reach two steps ahead. That gives you time to find a step or a curb or a hole before you step into it. Got it?" I nod, and take that first step. Then the second one. I don't have the rhythm right. "This doesn't feel right. What am I doing wrong?" I stop where I am.

Dave steps up right beside me. "It's going to take some time to get it down. At first, it's going to seem counterintuitive. Don't expect to master this in one day. It won't happen. You have to practice, just like anything else. Before long, it's going to be so natural that you won't even have to think about it. You'll just do it. Try it again."

I take another couple of steps, this time getting my feet going in sync with my swing. Then the tip of the cane hits something. "What did I just hit?"

"It wasn't me, or you'd have heard an 'ouch'," Dave laughs. "Reach the cane out and touch it again, then walk up closer to where your cane tip hit." I do as he says. I walk closer and reach out my hand. It's the wall.

"Good! Now you know how to keep from running into a wall! Want to learn how to find the door?"

"Of course. It'd be good to find the bathroom on my own."

"Then, turn to your left, and step out again, and let your cane lightly hit the wall on your right side. That will keep you in a straight line. It's called 'shorelining'. You'll use the same method to follow sidewalks and curbs."

I tap my way a couple of more steps, and then the cane doesn't hit the wall. It swings wider.

"Okay. What did you just find?"

"The door to the bathroom?"

"Yep! When you're in close quarters like this, hold your cane like you would a pencil further down, like this." He moves my hand to a spot lower on the cane. "For obvious reasons, that's called a pencil grip. When you do that, you can still find things, without banging around so much. You can walk up closer to the object. That's also how you will climb steps. But that's a lesson for another day. Now, turn around and face me, and come back to the bed. Try out the pencil grip."

I do it, and walk hesitantly back toward the bed. I feel the cane hit the side rail, and walk up to touch it. "Was that right?"

Dave tells me that I'm doing great for the first lesson, but to not get cocky about it. "Practice that swing without walking for a while every chance you get. It'll make your hand tired after a while, but remember to keep it loose. Will you do that for me tonight?

"Sure. Why not? I'm not going anywhere." I'm still not convinced that I'll ever learn this. I do know that I'll have to, though. Might as well get with the fucking program.

"Great, Matt! I'll see you tomorrow. We'll go terrorize some nurses out in the halls."

The thought of that makes me smile. I haven't done much of that lately.

-o-

Before long, I hear my dad talking to someone at the nurses' station. He's asking about how I've been doing today, and the person at the desk must be pulling my chart before she answers him. She says that the doctors have been in and looked at me, and that the social worker will want to talk to him later. That doesn't sound too great. He thanks her, and I hear his leather shoes on the tile outside. He hesitates a moment before he steps into the room, like he's steeling himself to be cheerful. His Old Spice precedes him.

"Hey, son! You're up! What have you been up to today?" He's trying too hard.

"They've run me ragged today, Dad. Giving me lessons on how to eat and dress myself, stuff like that. Oh, by the way, think you could bring me some clothes tomorrow? A t-shirt and some sweats, maybe, and a pair of jeans and my shoes. I think they must have lost my clothes and my sneakers between the ER and here somewhere. And don't forget some underwear, please." I point to the gown I'm wearing. "This is just so not me."

That gets a chuckle out of my old man, and it's good to hear. He launches off into how his day went trying to talk to the lawyers, and even though he attempts to make light of it, I know that it's just not right. He's not telling me the whole story, but I don't press him for any more details. Finally, he gets up and tells me that he needs to get to the gym to practice, because he's got a sparring match lined up for later in the week. He'll take his frustrations out on the speed bag and the heavy bag tonight, I know.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Matty. Try to keep your hands off the nurses, okay?" He claps me on the shoulder, then gives me a big bear hug. He's awkward at this. "Good night."

"Night, Dad." His footsteps fade down the hall, and I hear the nurse at the station stop him on the way out. She tells him the doctors will call him at home and that the occupational therapist would like for him to be there in the morning when she meets with me at ten. He says he will be here, and I hear him go out to the elevator and wait for it. I can hear him clearing his throat as he steps into the elevator car. The door slides closed and his scent is gone.

-o-

Since I'm now able to get up and roam around some, the nurse comes in and tells me that they are moving me out of this room and into the rehab wing, where I will have a room to myself. At least I won't have to listen to Mr. Sullivan's raggedy snoring any more. Poor old guy. I seem to be able to tell he's getting weaker, because his breathing sounds so shallow. He probably won't last too much longer.

The nurse sends another escort to take me to the new room on a different floor, and he's certainly not as fun as Eddie. He treats me like I'm invisible, only talking to the nurses at the stations, and not to me. One of the aids takes me into the room, and describes the setup to me. It's got a private bathroom, the door is on the right of the room door, just inside that door. Straight ahead, the head of the bed is on the right. There is a nightstand with drawers on the right of the bed, and a recliner on the left side, next to the window. I walk around the room, trying to memorize the layout, using the pencil grip on the cane. I have to admit, it keeps me from bumping my shins as much. I try out the recliner, and it's not too bad, considering it's got plastic upholstery. Not as lumpy as Dad's recliner, for sure. I switch on the tv, and all that's on is soap operas, so I turn it off. I try to nap a little.

Supper comes, some sort of noodle soup and a BLT sandwich. I don't spill so much this time. I'm bored, so I get the cane and practice that back and forth thing for a little while. Then I get adventurous and find the bathroom. Damn! All by myself. I find the tv remote again and flip around the channels. Not much on, not that it matters anyway. Everything seems to be this huge jumble of noise around me. Sound seems to bounce around everywhere. I've got a headache, and I'm still in a good bit of pain. I use the call button, and the nurse asks what I need. I ask for some pain meds, and she comes in with a shot of morphine. It stings like a mother going in, but I drift off to sleep without much trouble after that.

-o-

I have that same dream about the shadowy figure coming to talk to me. She whispers to me that I will be fine, and this all will turn out to be a blessing. She kisses my forehead, and something brushes against my hand as I reach up toward her. It's a cross that's hanging around her neck. Strange. I don't know anyone who's really that religious. Wonder what's going on in my head that would make me dream that? Must be the drugs.


	7. Chapter 7

Accidental Hero

Chapter 7

I wake up with a start as someone drops a tray outside in the hallway. It's so loud, it sounds like it's right beside me. I hear someone cursing under his breath as he scrapes whatever it was up off the floor and into the trash. Scratch one breakfast for somebody, I suppose. Good, I'm not the only clumsy one around here.

It wasn't mine, because shortly, there is a knock on the door, and I hear "Food service. I'll set your tray up so you can sit in the chair over here." The scent of coffee and orange juice hits my nose. I sit up on the side of the bed, and remember that I've changed rooms. The layout of the room is different, and I try to remember where the bathroom is in relation to the bed. I find my cane leaning next to the nightstand, use it to help locate the door, and go take care of business before I eat.

Today I try to be more careful, and I actually enjoy the pancakes and syrup. I don't even think I dripped any. I tried to think ahead, and stuck the paper napkin in the neck of my gown. That seems to work pretty well for now.

An aide comes in and says that if I want, I can take a shower. It's not Nathan, because I've moved to a different floor. This guy sounds a little younger, with a higher voice. He introduces himself. "Hey, Matthew, I'm Dennis, the medical assistant for today until three." He sounds a little feminine; maybe he's gay. As long as he doesn't try anything funny, I don't care one way or the other. "I've brought you some shampoo and soap, and a couple of towels, a washcloth, and a clean gown." He puts the bundle in my hand, and guides me into the bathroom. "There's a shower nozzle on the right hand wall, right here...", he places my hand on the faucet part, "...and to adjust the water, just turn the lever handle below it counterclockwise to make it hotter, clockwise to turn it completely off. There's a guard on there that will keep it from getting too hot. Be careful about getting your bandages wet." I assure him I'll be fine, and he puts my hand on a cord next to the shower. "That's the emergency call. Pull that cord if you feel dizzy or slip and fall. It turns a light on at the nurses' station and outside your door to tell us you need help, okay?"

"Yeah, got it, thanks." Dennis leaves to give me some privacy, and I shut the door behind me. The shower is part of the bathroom, with just a drain in the floor, handrails around the perimeter, and a plastic curtain to keep the water from splashing out into the rest of the bathroom. It's all tiled, and the sound of the water echoes off the walls when I turn on the shower. I strip and put my hand out to check the water temperature. It feels about right, and I step in with my back under the shower head. The water splatters against me, and it almost hurts. Not because it's too hot, but because it's like I can feel each drop hitting me. It pounds my back, and runs down me in rivulets, puddling around my feet. For just a little while, I stand still, just enjoying the sensation on my back. It seems like the sounds have faded away some, and I feel peaceful for the first time since the accident. I have no idea how long I stand there. It feels good to soap up and get clean. I'll worry about the shampoo later. The hot water is so relaxing that I forget and turn my face into the stream of water, and my peace is shattered. The bandages get soaked immediately, and I reach up to rip them off my face. There's more than one layer there, and I claw at the padding that covers my eyes. Dammit, this hurts! I really begin to freak out, and I slide to the floor of the shower. Where is that damn panic button thing? I grope around and find it, and nearly jerk it out of the wall.

Frantic footsteps, and the door swings open. "What's happened, Matt?" Dennis is here, turning off the water, putting a towel around me, and lifting me up off the floor. "Let me get you over here; sit down on the toilet to get your bearings." He puts another towel around me, and then gently begins to wipe the water out of my eyes. I grab the towel from him, and press it to my burning face.

"I forgot, Dennis. I just turned around in the shower and…shit, this hurts!" My head is on fire, and the towel feels like it's full of sand, scraping the skin off me.

"I'll get the nurse" Dennis says, and once he's sure I'm steady, he leaves. I sit shivering on the cold toilet seat, with just a towel thrown over me. If it didn't hurt so fucking bad, I'd be embarrassed. The nurse comes in with him, and she checks my face and eyes.

"You're fine, Matt," she reassures me. "You haven't done any damage to anything. I'm going to get some fresh dressings and re-bandage your eyes. Meanwhile, let Dennis help you get your clothes on, and back in bed."

Dennis hands me a gown, and I put it on, letting the towel drop to the floor. I kick it out of my way, and fumble my way back to the bed, refusing to let Dennis help me. I climb in, and just collapse in a heap. The nurse is back; she asks me to sit up and puts some sort of salve on my face and eyes. It smells bad, and feels really greasy. She puts the pads back over my eyes, and wraps the gauze around my head. My hair is damp and feels stringy against my forehead.

The salve actually seems to be helping to take the stinging away. The nurse then gives me a small plastic cup in one hand and a larger one in the other. She tells me it's a pain pill in the small cup, and I toss it down and chase it with the water. I lie back on the pillows and feel like I've run a marathon. All this, just because I wanted to take a shower. Why is nothing simple? Is my whole life going to be this complicated?

-o-

Dr. Pruitt comes in on rounds, smelling of antiseptics, laundry starch, and hand soap. "I see they've gotten you a private room now, Matthew. How are you feeling today?" I resist the urge to say _with my hands._

"I just managed to mess up and run water straight onto my face when I tried to take a shower, that's all, doc."

"Yes, the nurse just told me about that. I don't think there was any harm done, other that I know it had to hurt like the devil. It'll be a few more days before you can leave the bandages off for good. I know that will be a relief. I did take a look at your chart, and it seems they didn't find any infections of any sort from your blood work. So, anything else going on you want to talk about? If I don't know the answers, I'll be glad to find someone who does."

"Well, maybe. Everything seems to be so awfully _loud._ I mean, it's not quite as bad on this floor as far as machinery and stuff goes, but it seems like people are talking too loud all the time. And I can hear stuff outside, too, like the traffic. I know I'm not on the ground floor, but the cars sound like they're outside my window. Is that normal?"

"That's a tough one, Matthew. Sometimes people forget and talk too loudly to blind people, like it should make them easier to understand, which makes no sense at all. As for the other things, maybe you're just noticing the sounds more since you don't...uh...have the visual distractions."

"No, sure don't have any of those." I change the subject. "So, when do you think I'll get to go home?"

"A lot of that will depend on how your rehab is going. We really need to make sure you have some basic skills before you go home, because I know it's just you and your dad there. We want to know that you will be safe in the home environment alone. You'll be having some in home lessons, along with classes at the Lighthouse once you do get to leave. It shouldn't be long. We'll do everything we can to get that taken care of for you."

"Okay. Thank you, sir. I'll work hard on my end to make it faster, too."

"Good to hear it, son. I'll be checking in on you. Don't push too hard, though. You've been through an awful lot in a short time. Talk to you soon." He shakes my hand, and fades down the hall. I like Dr. Pruitt. He's to the point, no BS. I've got to get a move on with this rehab stuff. I want to go home.


	8. Chapter 8

Accidental Hero

Chapter 8

A soft knock on the door, and Miss Jewel announces herself. "Matt, are you ready for a little more instruction?" I sit up and nod. "Great! How did you do with your meals yesterday and this morning?"

"Much better, thanks. I think most of it went in me this time." I smile as she pulls the chair up beside the bed. Coconut shampoo again. That fragrance suddenly takes a back seat to the Old Spice coming in the door. "Hey, Dad. This is one of my teachers, Miss Jewel."

Her chair scrapes back and she gets up to meet my dad. "Jewel Lewis, the occupational therapist assigned to your son. He did really well on our first visit yesterday."

"Jack Murdock." I assume they are shaking hands. "Matt didn't give you any static yesterday, did he?" I groan inwardly.

"No, sir, he was a total gentleman. Would that be Matt's clothes you've brought with you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Here ya go." Dad hands a crinkly bag to her, and I guess it's my gym bag. She passes it to me.

Miss Jewel says to the both of us, "This is the next lesson: how to get dressed. We went over a couple of things about this yesterday, so, I'm going to step out of the room and let you get presentable, okay, Matt?"

I hear her turn and walk out, shutting the door behind her. I unzip the gym bag, and fish around in it for my underwear first. That's a no-brainer, since there's the fly in the front. I find a t-shirt, and search for the tag in the back of the neck. I toss it over my head, and unfold my pants. Nothing to this, so far. I zip up my pants, and Dad hands me my socks out of the bag. He's said nothing at all, but I get an uneasy vibe from him. I put on the socks and ask him for my shoes.

"Here ya go, Matty. Put your foot up..."

"Dad! Please! I'm not stupid. I can do this myself." I take the shoes from him, and find that there's a knot in one of the laces. Great. I jerk at the shoestring, and the knot gets tighter. About that time, Miss Jewel knocks on the door.

"Come in!" Dad bellows a bit loudly.

"Are you decent?" she laughs, and then gets serious when she sees the frustration on my face. "What's the problem, Matt?" She waits for me to respond.

"I've got a really big knot in my shoestring," I snap. "What's it look like?"

"Like you have a big knot in your shoestring," she says. "Want to know how to get it out without breaking it, or do you want to tug on it all day?"

I drop the shoe to the floor. "That wasn't too smart. Now you have to find it, Matt." Wow, she's not going to cut me any slack, is she? "And, no, Mr. Murdock, please don't hand it to him. There's not always going to be someone in the room with Matt, and he needs to learn how to find something he's dropped for himself."

"That's pretty harsh, lady," my dad snorts.

"Mr. Murdock, we are all in this together, and I'm here to help Matt and you both to learn how to deal with things as they are now. Please, let me do my job. Now, Matt…which way do you think your shoe fell? Did you hear it bounce?"

Honestly, I wasn't paying attention when I dropped it. "I'm not sure. I didn't notice."

"This is why you will learn to concentrate when things fall. There will be plenty of times in your life when you will drop something—we all do it every day—and you will need to get a general idea of where you need to search. Now, you're going to learn a basic grid search, so you won't find yourself groping around looking for something. Do you have an idea of what I might be talking about?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. Why don't you just tell me?" I'm being less than nice.

"Get off that high horse, son, and listen to what the lady is trying to tell you." Dad is not going to let me get away with being snippy.

"I'm sorry, Miss Jewel." I do my best to look sheepish. "You were saying?"

"A grid search. I'm sure you've had enough math in school to know what a grid is, right?" I nod. "Well, think of the floor in front of you as having a grid pattern on it. This gives you a systematic way of finding something, because you don't keep going over the same area you've already searched. Basically, just start at your left as far as you can reach and work away from yourself as far out as you can without moving. Use the back of your hand and fingers, lightly touching the floor. Then, look in the area to the right of that, working back toward you. Keep moving left to right, away and toward, until you find what you are looking for. If it wasn't in that grid, then move over and start again. Ready to try that?"

"Yes, ma'am." I get on my knees on the floor, and start the search. Now I know why I should listen to how something hits the floor. A couple of passes, and I find the missing sneaker. I grin and hold it up triumphantly. The feeling is fleeting.

"This shoe was easy to find…but what about something smaller, or if something breaks?" No getting off lightly with Miss Jewel. "How would you find some change you dropped?" And with that, I hear a loose coin hit the floor. It bounces to my right, and rolls around a little before I hear it hit a baseboard on the floor.

I point to the direction I think it went. She says, "Good! I'm not going to make you chase it, because we need to get back to tying your shoes, now that you've found them. I just wanted to give you something to think about, okay? Little pieces of information that your ears give you will make a lot of difference now. Learn to concentrate." Wow, if she only knew how many things I hear all at once. How am I ever going to sort this all out?

Back to the task at hand: unknotting this shoelace. While Dad and Miss Jewel talk about things like not moving furniture around without telling me, and keeping doors either all the way open or completely closed, and then deal with some paperwork, I fumble to untie the stubborn knot. At first, I just feel the dirt on the lace, then I begin to notice how the loops are over and under, and begin to pick it apart. Before long, I have it unsnarled, and I slip my shoes on my feet. Then it hits me. I still have to tie them, don't I? Uh huh, smart guy. How good are you now?

I get the first part of the knot tied and snug the laces up on my foot. I loop one side up—and then I'm totally lost. I raise my head to look up at Miss Jewel. I know where she is, because I hear her talking to my dad, but it seems that I can sort of tell that she's a smaller object standing next to him. Huh? Nothing definite, but something. I shake that thought out of my mind. I blurt out, "A little help over here, please?"

Miss Jewel reacts casually, coming to my rescue, but not hurriedly. She says to my dad, "Could you come over here, Mr. Murdock? I'm sure you taught Matt how to tie his shoes in the first place, so I need to get you to give him a hand now. Please, step over here, and let him follow your hands. I don't want you to just tie them for him, but let him put his hands over yours as you make the loops. See, I know you are both left-handed, so it will be much easier for you to show him than it would be for me."

"How did you know that?" Does this woman have ESP or something?

"Just observation, Matt." She laughs a little at my surprise. "You were using your left hand with your fork yesterday, and your dad just signed a couple of papers for me, and he's a leftie, too. No magic involved, just paying attention to detail, something you have to learn to do, too."

Dad reaches over me and I put my hands on his, scrutinizing each movement he makes as he ties my shoe. Miss Jewel leans over us. "Muscle memory, Matt. That's what you will realize you are doing when you do a repetitive task. Won't be long before you can't remember NOT knowing how to tie your shoes, or anything else you do every day. By the looks of how this is going today, it won't be long at all."

Actually, once we tied the first one, I was okay when I concentrated on the second one. I guess I sort of panicked a little at first. "Okay, I have my shoes tied. We're really making progress here, huh?" She probably thinks I'm a real snot.

She ignores the last remark. "Since we are up here in your room today, I have another little handy thing I'll bet you'd like to know. Do you have a toothbrush and toothpaste?" I shake my head no, which makes me wonder just how bad my breath probably is. Gross. "I have some right here, and I want to show you how to get the toothpaste on the brush the easy way." She guides me to the sink and puts the toothbrush in my hand. "First, when you take the top off the toothpaste, make sure you remember where you set it. I recommend putting it beside the faucet handle. Squeeze the toothpaste out onto your finger, so you can tell how much you have. Then push it onto the brush, and there you go!"

I give it a try, and squeeze a little too hard on the tube. I get enough for me and a couple of other people the first time, but I go on like nothing happened, and marvel at just how minty fresh I'm getting my teeth. Rinse and spit like normal, and there's another piece of functional information. "Yay! Progress!" I flash my winning Murdock smile at Miss Jewel. She laughs, and tells me to remember to wipe my mouth after I'm done. I can feel myself blushing.

"I have something else that I'm sure you will appreciate, Matt. Hold out your hand, please." This will become my new method of _show Matt what you've got _for the rest of my life, I suppose. Miss Jewel puts a box in my hand. "Go ahead, open it. I promise it won't bite." That's just a little unsettling at first, but I know she's kidding from the little snort I hear from Dad.

I open the box, and it's a watch. Now, what good is this going to do me? "Uh, thanks, Miss Jewel. Does this thing talk?" I undo the buckle on the leather band, and fasten it around my right wrist.

"No, this is a braille watch, Matt. Believe me, those talking watches are annoying. Press the winding stem and the crystal will flip open." I do it, and the glass pops up. "Now gently touch the face of the watch. The minute hand is a thinner, longer hand, and the hour hand is shorter and has a thicker point on it. Twelve o'clock has three dots. Three, six and nine o'clock have two dots, and the rest are just a single dot."

"Check it out, Dad!" I hold my arm up for him to admire it. "I really hated not knowing what time it was. Sweet!"

"You'll have time to practice with that later, Matt." Miss Jewel turns to my dad. "Mr. Murdock, today I'd like to go over some things with you that I showed Matt yesterday. You will need to learn some sighted guide techniques along with him to use in the future."

"Just what does that mean? Can't I just hold his hand?" Dad sounds puzzled.

"Dad! I'm not a five year old! There's a right way and probably a lot of wrong ways to do it. Would you just let Miss Jewel show you?" I didn't really think he'd get upset by this, but his heavy sigh sounds like I'm wrong.

"Let's do this thing," Dad says, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other nervously.

"First of all, Mr. Murdock, it's best for you to ask Matt if he wants help or not. This comes more into play later after he's mastered some cane travel skills. Typically, you should just ask him if he wants to take your arm, or you can use the phrase 'do you want to go sighted guide?' That's his cue to either accept or reject your help. Matt, it's also up to you to ask if you want help from someone else, and the accepted form is to ask if you can take someone's elbow, or use the phrase 'Let's walk together sighted guide.' This keeps either of you from having to read the other's mind. And that's a skill I really can't teach." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, once that the help has been requested or accepted, you, Mr. Murdock, lightly touch Matt on the arm or the back of his hand to let him know exactly where you are. Matt will then take your arm, just above the elbow. Try that for me."

Dad reaches over and touches my hand. He's on my left, so I reach up for his elbow and grasp his arm just above it. I can feel him flinch just a bit when I do it. I relax my grip a bit; I guess it was a little tighter than I thought. "That's perfect, guys." Miss Jewel is right behind me. "Matt will follow along side you, about a half step back. That way, he can tell if you are shifting directions, going through a doorway, or turning a corner. Try walking toward the door, but stop just short of it, please."

We begin to move forward, and at first Dad isn't walking his usual pace. "Keep a normal length of stride, Mr. Murdock. Matt isn't that much shorter than you, and he'll be able to keep up, I'm sure." Dad murmurs his compliance, and then Miss Jewell adds, "Now you need to know how to do an about face. This is what you want to do rather than pivoting around when you are in a small space, like this room, or when you go into an elevator, which we will be doing shortly to go downstairs. You'll need to turn ninety degrees to face each other, with Matt still holding onto your arm, then do another ninety degree turn to reverse your direction, and Matt will take hold of your free arm, and let go of the other one. That way you don't have to pivot around your Dad in a close space, Matt. Want to try that for me?"

I turn to face Dad, and jokingly say, "Want to dance?" He is not amused. We get the process done fairly smoothly. My dad might not be into ballroom dancing, but he's graceful in his own way. He really is good with his footwork.

"Excellent! I can see you guys are going to make a great team!" Miss Jewel bubbles. "Now walk back toward me, and stop, please."

Dad does as he's told. "Was that better?" He sounds genuinely concerned about her approval.

"Yes, that was fine, Mr. Murdock. Do another about face for me." We do it again, smoother this time. "Now, you need to know how to take Matt through a doorway. When you are coming up on the door, move your elbow slightly behind you so Matt will know the door, or a narrower space, is coming up. That way, he can drop single file behind you and follow you without bumping his shoulder on the door frame. Once you are through the door, bring your elbow back to the normal position, and Matt can move back to his place a half step behind you. Let's go out into the hallway."

I seem to be able to smell Dad's nervousness. It's like he's breaking a little sweat, even though I know this is hardly any exertion for a guy who works out like he does. We go to the doorway, and he moves his arm back slightly and I follow him through. No major mishaps. Miss Jewel directs us to take a right down the hallway, and off we go.

A couple of times I can feel Dad veer one way or the other, and it feels like we are going around something in the hallway, like a cart. I follow the slap of his leather-soled shoes, and Miss Jewel follows behind us, her heels clicking on the tile. She asks us to turn right again, and we walk around some people standing in the corridor. They must be bringing flowers in to a friend. I smell them as we pass.

"You okay, Matty?" Dad seems to be taking all this in very well.

"Yeah, fine, Dad. Looks like we're making good time here. Where are we going?"

"We're headed down to the cafeteria, Matt. I'm sure you'd rather eat something from there than the stuff they bring up to the room, wouldn't you?" Miss Jewel then tells Dad to head for the elevator at the end of the hall. We stop to wait, and she pushes the call button. "There's a little bit of a trick to guiding in a cafeteria line, Mr. Murdock, but I can tell you guys will do just fine."

"If you say so," Dad replies. The elevator arrives, and we go in. We do the about face thing, and it's getting easier.

When the door closes, the space seems to tighten around me. I hear the pulleys and the gears in the mechanics of the elevator, and the sudden lurch downward catches me by a little bit of a surprise, even though I know it's coming. I grip Dad's arm a little tighter when the car gets to the bottom. It's just a funny feeling, like a kiddie roller coaster ride. It will take a little getting used to. I've never liked elevators a lot, and we live in a walk-up apartment. The elevator dings, the door opens, and we follow Miss Jewel and her coconut shampoo outside.

It's not far down the hall to the cafeteria, and I suddenly realize how hungry I am. Even the liver and onions smell good, although I'm sure there is something I'd rather have. Lots of different scents bombard me as we take our place in line behind my instructor.

"It will be easier at first if your dad takes one tray and just tells you what the choices are. Matt, just keep your hand on his elbow, and side step along with him as we go through the line. When we get to the end, you can follow your dad just like usual. Mr. Murdock, the cashier is at the end of the line, so you would pay before we leave the serving line. Today, however, lunch is on us, because it's part of Matt's training."

"Well, thank you!" Dad says, and I'm sure he's relieved because we are not exactly rolling in the cash. "Whatcha want to eat, Mattie, it all looks good."

"Why don't you tell me what's what, Dad?"

"The salads are first. You want a green salad, or some of this fruity stuff in the jello?"

"I think I'll take the jello kind. Got any red?" I'm thinking that I'm not quite up to chasing lettuce around. I keep my hand on Dad's arm, and sidestep along the counter as I hear him sliding the tray.

"Sure, I think I'll get some of this carrot salad myself. Looks like they have liver and onions, hamburger steak, roast beef, and some kind of fish. What'll you have, Matty?"

"Hamburger steak sounds good. Do they have gravy and potatoes?" We stop for a moment in the line.

"Yeah, they do. Want gravy on the meat, too?" I nod. "Could you please give both of us one of those, ma'am?" I hear the lady scooping up the food and pouring the gravy over the meat and potatoes. It smells really good, or I'm just really hungry. We resume our movement down the line. "Do you want dessert? They have pie, and some pudding, and it looks like chocolate cake."

"Chocolate pudding?" That's got to be easier to handle than cake or pie right now. After all, this is the first time I've eaten out in public.

"Sure you don't want this lemon pie? Sure looks good, son. That's what I'm going for."

He has no idea how good he just made that sound. "Okay, Dad, let's go for the pie." I'm hoping that I won't be wearing it.

Dad gets our iced tea, and I hear Miss Jewel taking care of our tab with the cashier. "There's a table on the far wall, Mr. Murdock. Let's sit there where it might be a little quieter." Little does she know. All this plate rattling and silverware banging makes it sound to me like we are in the middle of a destruction derby. I'm latched onto Dad, and he follows her through the crowded cafeteria. Only once does he not steer me behind him quickly enough, and I bang my shin on an occupied chair.

"Sorry," I mumble to the person whose lunch I've just interrupted. At least I didn't knock a glass over or something.

We reach the table, and Miss Jewel tells Dad to put my hand on the back of an empty chair. I feel for the seat, and slide in without mishap. Dad sets the tray on the table and takes the seat to my left. Miss Jewel sits on my right. Time for more lessons in how to feed myself. At least, I think my back is to the main part of the dining hall, so if I spill, not too many people will see it. Thank goodness for that.

"Do you want me to cut up your meat for you, Matty? Dad is trying to keep his voice level and low.

Before I can answer, Miss Jewel cuts in. "No, Mr. Murdock, Matt has to learn to do this for himself, and I'm certain he can handle this." My teacher instructs Dad how to place the plate and utensils on the table and explains the clock face system to him. I'm hoping the food will still be warm when we get to it. I've made a good choice, she says, because the hamburger steak can be cut with either a fork or a knife, and we can practice both. Whoopee.

She tells me where the food is positioned, and I trail the edge of the table, up to the plate. I find the utensils, figure out which one is the fork, and pat around on the plate. "Is it okay if we just skip the knife thing today?" I'm really hungry, and I want to cut to the chase. She says that's fine, and I go after the hamburger with my fork. The first bite is teeny, but it does taste pretty good. I try again, this time paying more attention to where I am putting the fork. This yields me an almost-too-big bite; I scarf it down anyway. The potatoes are mashed and fairly solid, so they don't present a huge problem. I'm suddenly aware that Dad is not eating.

"Dad, you still there?" I grin between bites. "This is some fine stuff here." I try to get him to open up.

"Yeah, son, it's fine." It hits me that he's been staring at me the entire time. "I just was watching how well you're doing with that."

"You don't think I can hit my piehole, Dad? It's really not that hard as big as you say my mouth is." I go for a joke, trying to break his mood. It works. He laughs, just a little, and so does Miss Jewel.

"He's a quick study, Mr. Murdock. We went over some basics yesterday, and I promised him some real food today. How do you keep this boy in groceries?" She knows how to lighten everyone up. Her name should be Miss Sunshine.

"He's always been a good eater, ever since he was a baby. He never has been a picky one, I'll give him that." Good reason, Dad. If I wanted to eat, I had to eat whatever we had around. Beggars can't be choosy, you always told me.

"Don't forget about your jello stuff and your pie, Matty. The jello is at…uh…two o'clock from your plate, and the pie is about ten."

"Don't worry, Dad, I'll find it." I really want to impress him, a whole lot more than I want all this food. It's just that there are so many people around, and so many scents floating around, that it's a little hard to concentrate.

We eat the rest of the meal with little conversation other than Miss Jewel telling Dad to make sure to place food on the table in a consistent fashion. I assume he's nodding in response, because I can hear him chowing down now. I'm sure he's hungry, because he probably didn't have anything but coffee at breakfast. I wonder if he's even been eating much at all. He's got to keep going. I can't let him slack off on his fight training just because of me.

Lunch ends with me not wearing any of it. Thank goodness for that little favor. Dad puts the dishes back on the tray and takes them away. He thanks Miss Jewel for the food. She tells him that our lesson is over, and she'll see him Monday about the same time to work on some more sighted guide skills, like going up and down stairs. I take Dad's arm, and he leads me out of the cafeteria and back to the elevator, where we take the return trip to my room.

Never would I have believed I could be so tired from eating lunch. I say goodbye to Dad, and crash in the bed for a nap. I think I've earned it.


	9. Chapter 9

Accidental Hero

Chapter 9

I don't know how much time has passed when Dave wakes me up, knocking on the door to get me ready for another session. I'll check my new watch later.

"Hey, Matt, it's Dave. Ready to give this stuff another try?"

"Guess so. Not much else going on around here right now. What's next?"

"We talked a bit yesterday about using the long cane, and we will practice that again in a few minutes. There is a bit of information that you need so that you can maneuver indoors in spaces where you might not really need to use a cane, like in a familiar room or building space. These are called protective techniques, because they keep you from running into an obstacle that might be sticking out into the room, like a door someone has left partly open, or a piece of furniture that someone has moved and forgotten to tell you about. It does happen, and this gives you a chance to avoid collisions."

"I'm all about avoiding collisions."

"All right, Matt. I'm going to move you over here with your back to the wall." He taps me on the hand, and I take his arm. Dave stops, then turns me around and tells me to reach back to touch the wall. "Touch the back of your left hand to your right shoulder. Good. Now extend your arm out level with your shoulder, palm out."

I do it, and it feels like a salute, almost. "Heil, Dave!" I quip, and we both laugh.

"Not quite like that, Matt." Dave regains his composure. "Let me show you. It's a bit more subtle than that." He takes my arm and shows me how to hold it level and without locking my elbow. "Cup your fingers a little, and relax. The point is to guard yourself completely across your body with your forearm. If you stay relaxed, there is less chance that you'll hit something hard enough to hurt yourself. Got that part?" I nod. "Cool. Now for the other arm. You use that one to protect the lower part of your body. Hold your right arm slightly away from your body diagonally across your groin area. Face the palm of your hand toward your body. This will keep you from running into something low, like a table or a chair back."

"Otherwise, I'm going to have to get a really sturdy cup, huh?" I already have begun to feel like I can say things like this to Dave. I'd hate to think I had to be absolutely serious with him.

"Something like that, yeah, wise guy." I can hear his smile. "You need to practice doing this with opposite hands, too, because sometimes you'll use one hand to trail the wall. Okay, now, put your hands in the protective position, and walk toward my voice."

I feel sort of awkward doing this, and wonder what it must look like. "Am I going to have to do this for the rest of my life, Dave? It feels pretty stupid." I keep walking toward him, until my forearm comes in contact with something. I stop.

"Well, maybe not just like this, because you will learn other protective techniques along the way, but that just kept you from running into the edge of the door that I shut partway in front of you. Had you just had both arms out straight in front of you, Frankenstein style, you would have missed it on either side and run smack into it. Does it still feel stupid to you?"

I drop my arms, and my head. "Uh, no." I feel ashamed for being such a whiner. He could have let me hit it full force, just to teach me the lesson, but he didn't. I better pay attention to what he's trying to teach me. Suck it up, Matt, and don't be a dick.

"Good. Because that's the basic move we'll build from today. Next, I want to teach you about travel patterns. Since you were sighted, we can use letters of the alphabet to correspond with the types of routes. Hold out your hand, please." I stick my hand out. Dave begins to trace shapes into my palm. "There are four basic route types: the "I" route, which is a straight line; the "L" route, which is a straight line with a ninety-degree turn at the far end; the "U" route, like a u-turn, and the "Z" route, which turns twice, but keeps going in the same original direction.

"Makes sense." I feel like it's a little too easy. Gotta be a catch somewhere.

Dave continues. "You're familiar with the cardinal compass points, north, south, east, and west, I'm sure, right?" I nod. "At first we might use arbitrary directions as the compass points here indoors, but eventually, you will be able to recognize which direction you are facing by orienting yourself with the position of the sun."

"What if it's raining, or nighttime?"

"I guess you'll just be screwed, then, Matt," Dave deadpans. Okay, I deserved that after my earlier remarks. Touché. "Don't worry about that just yet. There are other ways to orient yourself, with landmarks, and by asking for directions. This will become second nature to you in no time."

I hope I have as much faith in myself as Dave seems to have in me. "Let's hope so."

"Now, another part of this is trailing the wall in a space. Turn to your right, and use your arm positions we talked about. Walk forward until you come to the wall, then turn so that your right shoulder is next to the wall."

I get a little too cocky and walk a bit too quickly, almost headlong into the wall, but my arm takes the brunt of the blow. Beats the hell out of creaming my nose into the wall, I guess. I put my right shoulder against the wall.

"Okay, Matt, good. Put the back of your right hand touching the wall, and use your left hand and arm like we did a while ago. You should almost be touching the wall with your left hand, and you have a couple of options for your right hand. You can either just brush your pinky fingernail against the wall very lightly, to keep you going in a straight line, or you can trail the back of your forefinger on the wall. Whichever feels best to you. Now, walk toward my voice."

Dave has backed away from me a few feet, and I follow the wall toward him. Eventually, I come to a corner of the room, and he tells me to continue following the wall towards his new position. I come to a gap in the wall; I assume it's the door frame. I stop. "Door, right?"

"Yes, and you've come from the side away from the hinges. Let me show you why you need to keep your other hand up." I hear the squeak of the door hinges, and the door comes into contact with my upraised forearm. "Not everyone remembers to fully open or close a door, Matt, so it's up to you to keep yourself as safe as possible. Otherwise, you'll be explaining too often how you got the shiner."

We practice this around the room a couple of times, and then Dave asks me if I practiced at all with the cane last night. I tell him that I did, and he checks my pencil grip technique, and then the two-point touch arc. He corrects my hand position a bit, because I don't quite have it right at belt buckle level and centered. Then Dave challenges me. "Are you ready to try this out in the hallway, Matt?"

Oh, hell, yes. Anything to get out of this room. "You bet. Let's go terrorize some nurses."

Dave chuckles. "You do realize that I've created a monster, here, right?" That makes me laugh, too. "Okay, then, wise guy. Find the door and then take a right in the hall. Let the adventure begin!"

-o-

When Dave drops me off back at my room, I'm assaulted by the overwhelming scent of all sorts of flowers. Not only that, but the sound of the room is...different. I stop in the doorway, somewhat confused by the change. I hear someone wheeling a cart nearby, and I ask. "Excuse me, but am I at the right room? This wasn't like this when I left."

A female voice answers. "Oh! You're the young man who saved the fellow from getting hit by the truck, aren't you? Yes, the doctor had given us permission to let the florists know that you could receive gifts now, and all this came while you were out with the instructor. Why, I think everyone in New York City sent you flowers and balloons!"

That's it! I could tell there was something hovering around in the room. It was sort of a weird feeling, like all this stuff was floating above me. I reach out and touch a batch of helium balloons. They make a strange noise bouncing off each other. The movement gives me a sudden feeling of vertigo. That and the sticky-sweet smell of the flowers. I have to sit down, and quickly reach out with the cane for the recliner. "I'm sure they're beautiful. But there's too much here. How about sharing the wealth with some of the other patients on the floor? They could appreciate the flowers a lot more than I really can. If there are cards, could you leave them for my dad to read to me?"

She hesitates for a moment, then says, "I'm sure that would be fine. You're a generous young man. I'll have one of the aides come in and do that as soon as someone is available. Is everything okay? You look a little pale. Oh, and I'm Sister Teresa, your nurse for this evening. Can I get you anything, Matthew, is it?"

"Please call me Matt, Sister. I'm fine, thanks. Just a little overwhelmed with all this, that's all."

"Good, then. I'll check back later with you, Matthew. Supper will be around shortly."

I flip open my watch and touch the hands. I can't quite tell if it's four o'clock or five by the positions, but I'd guess it's more like five since it's near supper. This is another thing that's going to take practice. I snap the crystal shut just as the phone rings on the nightstand right beside me. I think it's a fire alarm at first, it's so freaking loud. I follow the shrieking noise to pick up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey, son! I tried calling earlier, but there was no answer."

"Yeah, Dad, I was out with Dave, the O&M instructor. We went all over the building today, using the cane. You should have seen me! I didn't walk into a wall even once!" I've got to be cheerful for the old man.

"Good for you, Matty! I'm sorry I haven't been there as much. You know I've been training real hard for this fight tonight. I've got to keep going to earn us a living. This match tonight could mean that I'm back in contention for the big money." He hesitates, and lets out a long sigh. "You do understand that I want to be with you there, don't you?"

"Sure, Dad. I'm fine." That's sort of a lie. "In fact, I want you to know that Miss Jewel was really impressed with you. I can tell." That was_ not_ a lie. "She told me to wish you luck with the match."

"Geez. That was nice of her. Say, I gotta go. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Behave yourself, Matty."

"I will, Dad. See ya." I bite my lip when I realize what I just said.

"Night, son." He hangs up.

I put the receiver back on the phone, and pray he wins his fight. He needs the boost so badly.

-o-

Supper wasn't bad. Fried fish, this being Friday, I suppose. Some of those old Catholic customs die hard. Just like some of the crusty old nuns that have been by to see me. Some of them are okay, even nice, like Sister Teresa this evening. A couple of them must have done duty at a Catholic school. I get the feeling they might rap me across the knuckles with a ruler if I don't sit up straight or whatever. Then there's the one that comes late at night, when I can't sleep. That's Sister Margaret, or Sister Maggie, as she told me to call her. She doesn't say much, just talks so softly when she does. I like her.

-o-

Friday night television has never been much to watch, and now that I can only hear it, it's pretty useless. I've been fidgeting around with my cane practice, and keep checking the time. It's moving pretty slowly right now. It's getting late, and I can hear all the old farts on the floor coughing or snoring or complaining to the nurses about something. It'll get quieter pretty soon.

Nine thirty, I think my watch says. There's a tap at the door, and I tell them to come in. "Hey, Matt, it's me, Dennis. I'm working the night shift tonight, and I'm here a little early. Man, it looks like a flower shop exploded in here!"

"Hi, Dennis!" Good, someone to talk to. "Yeah, I told the nurse earlier that we could give most of this away to people who didn't have anything to look at, since there's so much."

"Cool. I'll take care of some of that in a little bit before I start the shift. How are you doing with stuff?"

"Honestly? I'm bored shitless, Dennis. Pardon my French." He laughs. "There's not much to do if you don't watch tv, and that's a bit of a problem now, you know?"

"Well, there are some radio stations on the tv remote, if there's anything that interests you there. Hey, you sure got a lot of balloons along with the flowers. Hmmm..." I hear him move across the room, and he sounds like he's taking one out of the bunch. The mass above me seems to waver. I suppose I'm just feeling the shift in the air of the room. Dave mentioned something about feeling the air pressure changes that you can feel. Guess that's it.

"That was an ominous 'hmmm', Dennis. Whatcha up to?" He's coming back toward me.

"Here, Matt, hold this for a second." He puts a balloon in my hands. Then I hear a whooshing sound, and then a Donald Duck voice: "Have you ever played with the helium in a balloon, Matt? Heeheeheehee."

It's so outrageous, that I burst out laughing. "No, how do you do that?" I'm intrigued, and ready to be sort of goofy for a change. I didn't really expect this out of Dennis. After a long day of relearning all the mundane stuff of life, this is awesome. "Show me!"

"Untie the string from the neck of the balloon, then hold it so it doesn't fly away from you." I get it loose, and manage to drop the first one. It flies around the room sounding like an old man farting. "Don't worry, you've got a lot more in here. Take this one and try it again."

The second time is a success. "Now what?"

"Just put the balloon up to your mouth and inhale as much helium as you can. It won't hurt you." He does it again himself. Donald Duck replies, "See, isn't this hysterical? Come on, try it!"

I take a big gulp of the gas. "Do I sound as funny as you do?" Now,_ I'm _Donald Duck. "We aren't going to get into trouble with this, are we?"

Donald, I mean Dennis, says, "I won't tell if you won't tell! Heeeheeeheeeheee...."

Another breath. "I just hope the sisters don't find out." And with that, all my helium is gone. My voice comes back to normal. We are cracking up, trying to keep it quiet. "Thanks, Dennis, that was funny."

"You're welcome. It's not often we get to have a lot of fun here. Now, I'll be the Flower Fairy and deliver all these extras to the other rooms for you. Then I have to get to work." I hear him bring a cart in from the hall, and he gathers up the bouquets. "Later, Matt."

Flower Fairy, indeed. I smile, and get ready to go to bed. It's been a long day.


	10. Chapter 10

Accidental Hero

Chapter 10

The weekend comes, and I guess I'll get a break from the rehab lessons. Breakfast is another batch of soggy toast, greasy sausage, and icky eggs, along with some orange juice and coffee. I brush my teeth and make another attempt at a shower. This time, I'm more careful. No accidents. I put on a clean set of sweats, and plop down in the recliner. I flick on the tv and pretend that I'm interested in the Saturday morning cartoons. I'm really getting bored around here.

I hear someone coming up the hallway who must be wearing gym shoes. Squeak squeak. There's a knock on my door, and I tell whoever it is to come in. The door bursts open. "Would you like a morning paper?" I look toward the sound of her voice. My visitor comes to a screeching halt just inside the door, so fast I swear I smell rubber burning. She must have realized what a dumb thing that was to say to a blind guy. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I suppose not." She sounds very young, and small.

" I could use it to line the birdcage, maybe." She giggles nervously. "Hi, I'm Matt. And you are...?"

"Jenny. I'm a candy striper, a volunteer here at the hospital. They don't let me do much other than bring newspapers or flowers around to the patients, but it's fun to meet people." She hesitates for a moment, then goes on babbling. "What happened to you?"

Subtle, she's not, but she sounds sweet, and at least she's not one of the stuffy old nuns that drop by to see me. I decide to have a little fun with her. "Got in a fight with some dude at school. You should see how HE looks." She gasps. Maybe that's not a good idea to tease her. "Oh, just had a little accident. Got hit by some stuff that fell of a truck."

"Wait...are you the one that saved that man from getting run over by the truck over in the Kitchen? I saw that on the news. They said he was okay, but whoever knocked him out of the way got hurt. It's you? Wow, you're a hero! Wait 'til I tell my friend Krissy about this! Are you going to be all right?"

"Hang on, Jenny, take a breath!" Her words tumble out so fast that the girl sounds like she's going to faint or something.

"Ohmigod! I've never met a celebrity before. This is just so unbelievable. What made you do it? Are they going to give you a medal or something? Can I have your autograph?"

"I'm not so sure you could read it if I wrote it. Besides, I'm no hero. Just did what I thought anybody else would do at the time, you know?" Geez, the girl is going to hyperventilate right here. I try to change the subject. "So, why do they call you a candy striper?"

"Oh, um... they used to wear these nasty little pink and white striped pinafore thingies a long time ago, like a peppermint stick, I guess. Thank god we don't have to wear those dorky outfits any more. We've got pink shirts and white skirts now. But they still call us that."

"How often do you come here?" This was the first time I'd had a visit, that I knew about.

"Once or twice a month, on Saturday. Sometimes more in the summertime if they want me. Most of the time, it's just old men who make stupid jokes and cranky old ladies with broken hips that I see here, but they seem to enjoy getting the papers and stuff. You surprised me, being young and all."

"Yeah, suppose I'm not the regular kind you meet. I'm glad you stopped by, Jenny. I really mean that. I wish you could stay a little longer. I know you must have more papers to deliver. You could leave one here for my dad if you have plenty. He can read it later when he gets here." Now, _I'm_ babbling on.

She drops a paper on the chair. "Maybe I can come back by if I get done early. See ya!" She sounds almost like she's _skipping_ down the hall. I wonder if she's as cute as she sounds. Hope she does come back.

-o-

Dad calls to tell me about the fight. "Son, I wish you could have been there! Your old man's still got it. I had a little problem in the first round with Kid Kincaid, but once I got him figured out, I let him have it good. Got him in the fourth round with a solid left hook."

"That's great, Dad! I know you put on a good show. When's the next fight? I want to be there."

"Slade will have to get me a match booked. Depends on who else is on the contender list. We'll see."

"Yeah, we will, Dad." I almost tell him about Dennis and the helium balloons last night, but I think he might not find it as funny as we did, so I try something else. "You should see all the flowers and stuff people have sent me. There was so much when I got back with Dave from cane practice that I asked if they could take most of it out and give them to other people to enjoy. Honestly, Dad, the smell of the flowers was so strong I thought I'd gag."

"Matty, people were just trying to be nice."

"Sure, I know, Dad. I really do appreciate it, and I had them save the cards so you could read them. Oh, and there's a newspaper here for you to read the next time you come up. Some volunteer brought it up. I don't know if it's the Bugle or not. She didn't say."

"I'll be up there in a little bit to see you, Matty. How's about I come at lunchtime so we can go to the cafeteria?"

"Fine! Come on over and we'll see if they have any more of that lemon pie. I'll tell them that you will be here at lunch so they don't bring me anything."

"Sounds good, son. Be there as soon as I can. Bye now."

"Bye, Dad." Cool. I'll be able to get out of this room for a while. Plus get a choice of what I want to eat for lunch. I find the tv remote and flip through to try out what sort of radio stations they have. Ew, public radio. No thanks. Click. Rap. Pass. Click. Country. Bleh. Click. Geezer rock. Click. _Never Gonna Give You Up. _Okay, something I've heard before. I'll go with this one.

The speaker on the tv remote is so tinny that it's hard to even listen to it. After a few songs, I turn it off. I think I hear those squeaky shoes coming down the hall again. No, it sounds like TWO pairs of squeaky shoes. A knock on the door.

"Come in." The two pairs of shoes enter my room, along with a nice scent of light perfume.

"Hey, Matt, it's Jenny. And I brought Krissy with me to meet you. I hope that's ok. Krissy, this is Matt. She volunteers here with me. We come over here together. Sometimes my mother drives, sometimes hers does." Rapid fire, just like before.

I hear feet shuffling, and Krissy finally speaks up, "Hello, Matt. Nice to meet you." She must not be looking up, and from the way her voice sounds, I think she's very nervous. If I didn't know better, I'd think I can hear her heart racing like a little bird's. I'm imagining stuff now. Well, imagination's all I've got. I give her a little wave.

"I'm glad to meet you, too, Krissy. Is that with a K or with a C?" I'm trying to come up with some small talk. Never been real good with that. And as best I can figure, she's not either.

"With a K, and a Y. Jenn tells me that you're a hero. What did you do?" I was right. She's not a motor-mouth like Jenny.

"Nothing that most people wouldn't have done. Just kept a man from getting hit by a truck. No big deal. Not really."

Jenny jumps in. "Matt, you're just being modest. Your picture has been in the paper and everything. I guess it was a school picture, because..."

"Because there was none of this?" I gesture at the bandages. "Yeah, I guess it was the yearbook picture."

"Where do you go to school? Or, where did you go to school? Will you get to go back? Will you have to wait until next fall?"

"I go to Brandeis. I hope they'll let me go back. I'm going to have to learn to read braille and get good at my cane travel skills before I do, though, so, yeah, probably next fall I'll be back."

"Wow! Brandeis? That's where Krissy and I go, too! We're in the arts program there. I don't remember seeing you on campus. How did we miss red hair like that on a cute guy like you?" She giggles and I think she's poking Krissy in the ribs. Because I hear a teeny _ow. "_You must not be on the football team." I can feel the color rising in my cheeks.

"Nah, Dad doesn't let me play sports. I'm in the honors study program for accelerated students. Not into the arts, and it's probably a good thing now, with this." I stupidly point at my eyes again.

"No wonder we haven't noticed you. You probably spend most of your time with your nose in a book." Brutally honest, this Jenny. "We're always on the other end of the campus from the library. So, what did they tell you about your eyes?"

Wow, and nosey, too! "As far as they can tell me, they're toast. Nada, zip, zero. Lights out for good."

Krissy draws in a quick breath. "Oh, that's horrible! I'm so sorry." I think she's going to cry. Please don't. I can't stand that.

I smile in her direction."It's okay. Better than being dead, I'd say. At least the stuff that spilled on me didn't kill me."

Jenny again with the questions. "How are you going to get to classes? How will you take notes? Will someone have to lead you around? Are you going to get one of those dogs?"

"Wow, Jenny, you're the twenty question queen, aren't you? They're teaching me how to navigate with a cane. It's over there in the corner. I don't know yet how I'll take notes. Maybe they'll let me use a tape recorder or something. No, I'm going to go learn the layout of the school during the summer so I won't need help getting to classes. And no, I'm not going to get a dog. We live in a small place. There's no room for a dog. Anything else?" I grin at her. She doesn't mean any harm, and it really is nice to have a little company.

"Um...no...wait! Is that a talking watch? How does it work?"

I knew there would be something else. "Oh! Yeah! I just got this. Miss Jewel...that's one of my instructors here...she gave it to me. You press this right here..." I hold out my arm and press the winding stem. "...and the crystal pops up. The numbers have dots instead, three at twelve o'clock, two at three, six, and nine, and one for all the rest. I can feel what the time is, without letting everyone know I'm checking to see how long it is until the bell rings at school. Sneaky, huh?" I take the watch off and hold it out to one of them. Krissy must be the one that takes it; she speaks up first.

"Cool. Check it out, Jenny."

"Oooh! I like it! Oh, geez, it's almost eleven! You're mom's going to be waiting for us! Here, Matt." She hands it back to me, and her hand lingers on mine just a little bit longer than I expected. I feel myself blushing again. Dammit. One of the curses of being red-headed. "Gotta run! See ya!"

I think Krissy waved at me, then realized it was a mistake. "Bye, Matt. Hope you get to feeling better soon."

"Thanks, bye." They leave without shutting the door. I hear them down the hall, waiting on the elevator.

"You shouldn't have said 'see ya' to him, Jenny. That was rude!"

"Oh, I never thought about that. But you're the one who said 'hope your _feeling better.' _Maybe we should go apologize. You think?" A nervous giggle, probably from Krissy. They're saved by the elevator bell. Before the door closes, Jenny whispers, "Wonder what he looks like under the bandages? What color eyes do you think he has? Think they look okay, or what?" The door shuts, and I have to wonder myself. About a lot of things.


	11. Chapter 11

Accidental Hero

Chapter 11

"Knock, knock. And it ain't Avon calling." Dad laughs at his own joke. One I've heard plenty of times before, but it's okay. "You ready for lunch, Matty?"

"Sure, Dad, let me grab my cane."

"Don't you want to go sighted guide?" Hey, he WAS listening to Miss Jewel after all.

"Yeah, we can do that some, too. I still want to take it with me." I've been given permission to go outside my room when Dad is around to practice the sighted guide stuff and using my cane. Dad taps me on the hand, and I take his elbow.

"Off to the races!" We're getting the hang of this. Won't Miss Jewel be happy?

In the elevator, we execute a perfect about face, and Dad starts telling me about his fight last night. What he doesn't say is that he must have a cut lip or something, because his speech is a little different today. I know how this always is, and it takes a few days for the swelling to go down. He stops with the blow-by-blow report when we get to the cafeteria floor and head down the hall toward those siren smells.

"I'll tell you the rest of it when we sit down to eat, Matty. Here's the chow line. Looks like there's fried chicken, roast pork, and some kind of meat patty in gravy. What sounds good to you?"

I notice he's skipped over the salads, probably to have money for dessert. "I'll take the fried chicken, a leg and a thigh, please."

He relays that to the cafeteria lady, and gets the same for himself. "What kind of veggies you want with that, son? They have green beans, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, and some kind of greens, which I know you hate."

"I think I'll get the mashed potatoes, Dad. That's enough for me. I had a big breakfast," I lie.

"He'll have the mashed potatoes, and I'll take the sweet potatoes. Thanks." I hear the plates clatter together on the tray, and follow Dad down the serving line. Funny how this side-stepping feels like doing a crab walk when you can't see where you're going. I never noticed it when I was at the school lunchroom. "Okay, son. Dessert's on me. What's your choice?"

"Better on you than on me." Dad gives me a gentle cuff on the shoulder. I swear I hear him smiling. "Do they have any of that lemon pie like we had the other day? That was good stuff."

"Um...don't see any. I think this is coconut pie here today. And there's banana pudding. Or chocolate cake."

"Banana pudding." That shouldn't be too messy.

"Two of those," Dad tells someone across the counter. "And two Cokes." We move a little further down the line to the jingling cash register and I drop my hand as Dad fishes for his wallet. He settles the bill with the cashier, then remembers to tap my hand before he picks up the tray. "Come on, son, there's a table to the right on the far wall." I shift my cane into the other hand before I take his arm, and we head for the table. I can tell Dad's juggling the heavy tray a little, but he wouldn't admit it."Let me set this stuff down, and I'll pull out your chair, Matty."

The dishes rattle a little unsteadily as he sets the tray on our table. I hear the chair scrape back, and Dad puts my hand on the back of it, and I sit down while he puts all the dishes on the table like he's learned. "Chicken is at six, Matty, potatoes at twelve. Your drink is over here at uh...ten, and the pudding is at two. Got it? Here's your silverware." He plunks the wrapped utensils on the left side of my plate. "Don't wait on me, go ahead and eat."

"I'm in no hurry, Dad. Get your stuff set up, too. And finish telling me about the fight."

That really makes the old man go into story mode. He gives me a blow-by-blow description that would rival any sports commentator. Only better, because he knows _why_ he made each move, and can tell me that, too. He's really something. We laugh and talk between bites and before we know it, we're done with lunch. Dad puts the dishes away, and we head back to the elevator.

"Hey, Dad, do you think we could go outside for a while? How's the weather?" I really hope it's nice enough that we can. I haven't heard any rain, just the wind blowing some.

"It's decent for this time of year. How 'bout let's go out on the patio on the inside of the building. Won't be so windy out there, and the sun's shining, so it'll be nice."

"Sounds like a plan. I haven't been out there before, so you better take me sighted guide. Maybe I can use the cane some on the way back. Okay with you?"

"Sure, why not?" We start toward a space that doesn't sound familiar to me, like it's got a higher ceiling. The sound echoes in the space, too. Maybe it's got big glass walls. We come to a stop, and Dad mumbles a quick curse. "Hold on a minute, son. This door is narrow, and I'm gonna have to open it out first, then get you through it. Got one of those push bars on it, glass door." He hits the bar and swings it out, then we have an awkward moment as I try to follow him out with him holding the door for me. There's got to be an easier way. I'll ask Miss Jewel about it. Or maybe Dave.

Once we get outside, I realize this is the first sun I've had on my face since the accident. It feels good. Dad takes me over to a bench, gets me turned around, and we both sit down. It's a beautiful day. I hear the pigeons flapping around and cooing. There must be some trees out here, too. It's a little early for some to have leaves, but something is blooming, although I can't identify the scent. I guess the space is an open atrium because the sounds echo off tall walls all around us. Overhead, I hear a jet in the sky. More than one, actually. How close together do those things fly? I never noticed before. I hear them plain as...well...planes. "Do you hear the jets, Dad?"

"What jets?" I guess he's looking up now. "I don't see any."

"Must already be out of sight, then. I could hear them. Even over the sirens coming toward us. Guess someone else is headed for the ER."

"Sirens? Oh, yeah, I hear them now. I think they might be fire trucks, though. No, you're right. It's an ambulance. Only it's several blocks away from here."

"Don't mess with me, Dad, they're right here." In fact, it's so loud that I'm getting a headache. "I think I've had all the smog I can handle for today. Let's go back in, please?" Really, it's all the noise out here that's getting to me. Every taxi driver in town must be honking his horn.

We navigate the door again, and it's even harder when you have to pull the door out to go through it. Dad doesn't know whether to shove me through it first, or to try to go through and keep it from hitting me in the butt. Yep, got to find out what the trick is for this, too. We're standing at the elevator when I hear a cane tapping, coming toward us. It's the first time I've ever heard another one, besides mine, to have noticed it, but it has a slightly different tone. It stops just short of us, and a familiar voice says, "Matt? Is that you?"


	12. Chapter 12

Accidental Hero

Chapter 12

"Dave?" What the...? I feel like my jaw just hit the floor.

"Yeah, what are you doing down here, dude? Oh, is this your dad? I'm Dave Bryant, Mr. Murdock. Your son's orientation and mobility instructor. Glad to finally meet you."

"Please, call me Jack. Uh...we were just heading back to Matty's room." The elevator dings, and the doors open. People are coming out, so we wait a moment.

"Well, that's where I was headed, too. I wasn't scheduled to come in today, but I was in the neighborhood, and thought I'd drop in and see if Matt's ready to tackle the stairs now."

I follow Dad into the elevator, and Dave is right behind us, still talking. "Jack, you've got quite a sharp son here. He's picking up stuff so fast that we'll be able to get him out of hospital rehab within the week, I bet."

I'm still speechless. Come on. Dave is blind, too? No freakin' way.

"Hope you'll forgive me for being blunt, Dave, but just how are you teaching my boy anything when you're as blind as he is?" Thanks, Dad. Never pull a punch. At least he didn't use that blind leading the blind line.

Dave laughs. "Well, Jack, I'm not _quite_ as blind as he is. I know that Matt has no light perception, so he fits the totally blind category. Most blind people aren't totals. I'm considered a high partial, which honestly is damn near total, and one day I will be. But right now, I've still got a little bit of tunnel vision, right in the center. Not enough to do me a lot of good, but enough for me to see just a little slice of what's in front of me. I have retinitis pigmentosa, which is a degenerative eye disease. I used to be sighted, too."

"Holy shit. We've got the blind leading the blind here." Oops. Spoke too soon. Should have known he'd say that. Good thing we were the only ones on the elevator. And here's our floor. Ding. Door opens. I follow Dad out, and notice that I no longer hear Dave's cane.

"Waitaminit, Dave...how come I never heard you using a cane before now?" I'm confused.

"Because I've been here so much that I know the hospital almost by rote, and I do have just a little vision left. Not enough to travel out on the street without a cane, but enough to do it in here. I have a folding cane, and I put it in my back pocket before I get off the elevator. Plus, I take off my shades inside. I only need them for the glare. Once you get a little more versed in using the long cane, I'll get you a folding one, and you can also choose a different style tip if you like. There's a cane library at the Lighthouse, where you'll go for lessons after you leave the hospital, and you can try them all out, see what you like best."

"Why didn't you tell me, Dave?" I feel lied to.

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Yeah...uh...maybe...hell, I don't know!"

"Matty! Don't curse!" Dad comes back with that _do as I say, not as I do_ thing. "I taught you better than that!"

"Sorry, Dave." I hang my head. I remember we're still standing just outside the elevator, near the nurses' station. "Sorry, Dad."

"Apology accepted. Now, how about we teach you how to go up and down the stairs safely? I think they told me that you guys live in a walk-up? Want to join us, Jack?"

"I won't be in the way?"

"Heck, no. Why, you might even learn something, Jack." Dave sounds like he's grinning at my father. "You might even have some questions that I'd be more than happy to answer. Ready, Matt?"

I nod, then it hits me. He probably doesn't really see me. "Yeah, let's do it."

Dave takes us to the stairwell. Dad takes the opportunity to ask him about going sighted guide through doors that have to be opened. "We just had a little problem come up with a situation downstairs that we hadn't run up against before. The door out to the patio or whatever they call it was a glass one with one of those bars across the middle you push on to get out. How do we deal with that?"

"Oh, you mean 'panic doors', that's what they call those kind of doors that open outward like that with a push bar all the way across. The door to the stairwell here is one of those. Here, let me show you, Jack. I'll guide Matt through going out, then you can do it the next time you encounter one. Take my arm, Matt." He taps me on the arm, and I take his elbow. "At first, people will probably tell you if the door opens out or in toward the room, but after a while of working closely with someone, you'll be able to feel which way they move as they approach the door, and you will automatically know what's going to happen. Another one of those things that gets much easier over time. You may already know this, but exit doors almost always open outward. That's the law, and the only time you find it different might be in a really old building."

"I never really noticed...did you, Matty?" See, Dad learned something new already. Heh.

"Yeah, I knew it because of fire drills at school. I hadn't heard them called 'panic doors', though."

"Anyway, when I come up to a door that opens out, I'll let you know which side the hinges will be on by pushing on the side opposite them. That way, you'll hear the door, feel the air moving through it, and will also feel me move my guiding arm behind me to signal you to follow single file. I'll push the door open, and you can put your hand out to hold the door open for yourself. When your hand slides to the far edge of the door, you can be assured you've cleared it, and let it close behind you. Then you can resume the regular sighted guide position slightly behind and beside me. Okay. Let's try this one."

"Do I keep my cane in the same hand, or do I put it in the hand I'm holding on to you with?"

"Good question! A lot depends on the situation, because you might find it easier to put it in the same hand as I'm guiding you with, or it may be just as easy sometimes to just hold it straight up and down as you use the back of your hand to catch the door. Again, practice will tell you a lot. This time, though, try switching it over to your left hand that's got my elbow. Ready?"

"Sure." We try the maneuver, and it goes fine.

"Rather than going in and out this door several times right now, we're going to first concentrate on climbing stairs. We have several flights here before we have to turn around and come back. One advantage of learning this in a tall building."

"Well, Dave, we get plenty of practice just getting up to our apartment. We live on the fourth floor. Matty here probably won't have any trouble at all with them. It's me that I worry about." Dad laughs. "I ain't as young as I used to be."

"None of us are, Jack, that's a guarantee! Now, Matt...remember that pencil grip we've practiced? Now's when it comes into play the most. We are going to climb the stairs first, because some people are a little afraid of falling down a flight of stairs, and it's easier to learn this first. Got your cane ready?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hold it just off the floor with the pencil grip. When you come to the first step, you'll feel your cane hit it. Pick up your cane, sliding it up the vertical surface of the step...that's called the riser... until you feel the next step. Slide your cane until you hit the next riser, then put one foot on the first step. Keep sliding the cane forward on the step above where your foot is, and when you hit the riser, step up with the opposite foot. You don't want to put both feet on the same step. That makes you lose your balance. You stay a step ahead of your lead foot with your cane. Try that for me. I'm right here beside you, and your dad is behind you. You won't fall, I promise."

I find the bottom step. So far so good. Up to the second, and put my foot on the bottom one. It's a slow, methodical sort of movement. "People are going to hate being behind me on the stairs."

"No they won't. They'll be jealous because you don't have to worry if the building super forgets to replace the lightbulbs on the landings. They'll be asking for _your_ help. Now, what happens when you reach the top of the stairs?"

"I won't feel another step up. Then that should be the landing."

"Correct! I'll coach you a little on this flight. The landing turns to the left, and continues up. There is a handrail on your right. This time, I want you to put your right hand on that railing, and use your left hand for the cane technique. There aren't always handrails where there are steps, but you can always check with your free hand for one. Or, if you are carrying something, you will be confident about going up or down stairs without depending on a handrail. Okay, now...onward and upward!"

I feel for the handrail, and this time I concentrate more on the feel of the cane tip on the step. I can almost feel the way the steps rise away from me. That must be the echo in the stairwell, and the air current. Pretty neat, actually. The movement is getting easier, and I get to the landing before I expect it. I didn't bother to count the steps. Maybe I will on the next flight.

"Geez, Matty, you're chuggin' right along! I'm impressed." Dad's voice echoes up the stairwell. He's dropped back now, after following practically on my heels the first two flights. I wouldn't tell him, but it sounded like he was breathing right down my neck, and it was pretty distracting. I'm sure he was just trying to be there to catch me.

"Thanks, Dad. You get to watch me take my first steps for the second time around, huh?" I meant it as a joke, but I hear a catch in the old man's throat. Shouldn't have said that.

We climb a couple more flights, and Dave stops me at the landing. "What goes up..."

"Must come down. Yeah, I knew there was a catch." I smile at Dad, and I think Dave gets it, too. "What's different about the procedure, other than me possibly falling ass over teakettle down to the basement?"

"Matt! I warned you, son..."

"It's okay, Jack. Certainly not the first time I've heard that, and I daresay I've used it a few times myself. And done it a few times, too. I was reluctant when I first started losing my sight to use a cane, and I could show you the scars to prove it, know what I mean?"

"You're preachin' to the choir, mister. An old warhorse like me knows all about that. I just want Matt to show you some respect."

"He's doing just fine, Jack. You've done a good job raising him, I can tell."

"Uh...guys. I know we aren't on the clock, or anything, but can we get on with getting back downstairs?" I'm kidding, and I can tell they know it. I think Dave could make friends with anybody. My old man is a tough nut to crack.

"Alright, already! I swear, these kids...always in a hurry." I'm imagining a wink going along with this statement. "Okay, Matt. Going down steps is a little more intimidating. Mainly because you could run up onto a down sloping stair without any warning. That's one of the most important reasons for learning a good two point touch technique, because you'll find that empty space two steps ahead of you, rather than after you've stepped off into a void."

"Sounds like a reasonable thing. Proceed, professor!"

"As soon as you think you've found a drop-off, stop. Switch to the pencil grip and locate the first step. This is the same thing you do when you come to a curb, but of course, there is more than one step. If there is a handrail, use it if at all possible. Let your cane slide down over the first step and hit the next one to determine how steep or deep they are. You may feel like you are falling forward. If so, lean back a little. Again, you don't want both feet on the same step, just like climbing them. It messes up your balance. Take it slow, and this time, Jack, why don't you go first, just as a precaution. I'll be right beside Matt. In fact, Matt, let me take out my cane and let you hear me go down a couple of steps, then you try it."

Dave unfolds his cane, and I hear it snap together sharply. The sound ricochets off the walls, down the steps, entirely different than it sounded coming up the same corridor. I follow slowly, until I get to the bottom, where my cane finds level ground at the landing. The handrail now guides me clockwise down the several flights we've come up. At a given point, Dave tells me to stop, because we are back on my floor, ready to go out the door to the room.

He instructs me and Dad how to open a door toward us and go through together. "This is the tricky one, Matt, because if you don't do your part correctly, the door won't hesitate to hit you in the ass. See? I know that word, too." He chuckles. "The lead person will stop short of the door, and may have to step back a slight bit depending on the doorway. You find the edge of the door as before, and keep it open while you follow through it. Okay, Jack, I'm going to let you do this one."

Dad taps my hand and I take his arm. The closer on this door is pretty strong, and when I try to catch it, I almost jam a finger. Needs practice, for sure.

Dave goes with us to my room, and he tells me that I'll need to start noticing how many doors down my room is from any given point, say the elevator, or the corner where the nurses' station is. He also tells me to put my hand up about shoulder high, next to the door frame. He then guides me to the overly large raised numbers, and beneath them, some tiny dots. "Before long, Matt, all that will make sense to you. The dots on the bottom are the braille numbers for this room. We'll get you set up at the Lighthouse for the braille lessons as soon as you get home. I have a feeling you'll pick that up fairly fast, too. Time for me to head out. See you guys around!"

I hesitate. "Alright, Dave. Tell me something. How did you know it was me in the lobby?" That's got me bugged.

"Simple. I could make out someone with a cane and very red hair. Odds are it would be you, huh?" He turns and I hear him humming as he leaves. And he calls _me _a wise guy? Heh.


	13. Chapter 13

Accidental Hero

Chapter 13

Dad comes into my room with me and finds the stack of cards that came off the flowers and balloons. "Looks like half the city sent you flowers, Matty. I've never heard of most of these people. I don't even have anywhere to send a thank you card to them, because they don't have addresses, just names."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Dad. I doubt that they expect to get one. Maybe you could just put one of those ads in the paper thanking everyone at once. People do that all the time now. You know, like in the classifieds." I know he's worried about this, because my father isn't very educated. He doesn't have the social skills he thinks this deserves. I have another idea. "Maybe you could ask Aunt Grace to give you a hand with the ones you do know. She'd probably be very flattered that you'd ask her."

I don't really have an "Aunt" Grace. She's actually an old lady who lives in our building who has been there since about the second world war. Her husband and son died long ago, and she sort of adopted our whole building. The super looks out for her, and she looks out for all us kids. Especially me, since my mom died. I don't even remember Aunt Grace not being around. She was always there, babysitting me when I was a toddler and Dad was at work. If I got a skinned knee, she was the one I went to for first aid and comfort. She's on up in years now, doesn't get out much. I used to run errands to the store for her. Used to.

"That's not a bad idea, son. Aunt Grace has been asking about you every time I see her. She wanted to know when she could send you some cookies when you felt better, and what she could do for me. She's a peach. Don't see many neighbors like her anymore."

"Cookies? You just said the magic word. Please tell her I said hello, and that I'll be seeing..." I trail off. "Let her know I'm thinking about her." Nope, won't be seeing her. Now that's just a meaningless catch phrase in my vocabulary. Weird how many times something like this pops up in conversation.

"I'll do that. She should still be up when I get back this evening. I better get going, Matty. I need to go by the gym on the way home for a little practice. I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, Dad. Oh...don't forget to bring me some clean clothes. I'll need some after tomorrow. I'd hate to be all funky." I leave out the part about having a couple of female visitors. It might shock the old man too much. I wouldn't mind it if they came back again, but I wouldn't bet on it.

"Will do. Catch ya later, son." With that, the Old Spice leaves the building, taking my old man with it.

-o-

I'm tired after all that stair climbing, so I crank back in the recliner. Before long, my thoughts are running together and I am thinking about Jenny and Krissy. A knock on my door, and the now familiar "Food Service" call brings me around. I must have been asleep, because Jenny had long, blonde hair and was dressed in a cheerleader outfit, and brunette Krissy had a more serious look, but was wearing a Catholic school girl uniform. Talk about stereotyping in your sleep!

I smell pungent garlic bread and spaghetti. A new adventure in food. Whoopee. I never was good at handling pasta when I could see what I was doing. This should be fun. Or not. I remember seeing some old people at a sidewalk cafe once using a spoon in one hand and the fork in the other, twirling the long strings around the fork to make them manageable. I had stopped across the street and marveled at how cool that looked, but I never tried it. I was probably ten or so back then, and when they caught me gawking at them, they gestured at me to go away. I think I might give their method a whirl. Haha, Matt, you are so punny tonight.

What do you know? I don't make much headway on the first bite or two, but I concentrate on my actions very deliberately, and I can _hear _the spaghetti. Or at least I think I can. Maybe it's just the weight on the fork as it scrapes against the bowl of the spoon, and that altogether makes me think I can hear it. Whatever. Another skill to practice. Maybe I should just stick to rotini. It might be easier to round up on a plate. Anyway, it's good spaghetti, and the tangy garlic bread is crunchy. The chocolate pudding isn't bad, either. I wipe my face on the napkin, and listen carefully for anyone out in the hall. The coast is clear. Buuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrp. Ahh. I have to smile. Not as good as the old man's--his are world class--but a very satisfying belch.

-o-

I'm bored. So bored. I wish Dennis was on duty tonight, but he probably won't be. The only visitors tonight have been the people taking vital signs and drawing more blood samples. Don't they ever get enough? I feel like a pincushion! First one arm, then the other. Vampires, all of them! 'I've come to suck your bloooood.' Could be worse. 'I've come to eat your braaaaains.'

What time is it? About eight thirty, according to where Mickey's hands are pointing. My head has begun to pound. Maybe I should call for something. They keep telling me to not let the pain get too bad before I ask for something. Where is that call button?

I buzz the nurses' station, and someone brings me a pain pill. My sleeping habits have been upside down since all this started. Since midnight looks the same as noon, I just can't get a rhythm going with my sleep. I undress and put on my pajamas, and try to drift off. Man, I wish my head would quit hurting.

-o-

Why is that old man walking out into the street like that? Doesn't he see that truck coming? I think he must be blind or deaf or both not to notice it. I've got to help him! Wait, mister! I'm moving in slow motion. I look down, and my feet are sticking to the wet cement on the sidewalk. Nooooo!

"Matthew! Wake up! You're having a bad dream." A female voice above me. I'm kicking the sheets on the bed, but the more I struggle, the more tangled I get. "Settle down. Everything is okay. I'll help you get untangled." She leans over the bed just as I sit bolt upright. Whoa! I come in contact with her enormous breasts, quite by accident.

"Wh..what just happened? Who are you? You don't sound familiar." I shake my drug-clouded head.

"I think we just got introduced the hard way. My name is Amanda, the night nurse. You were shouting in your sleep, and you've gotten quite tangled up here. Hold still and I'll get the sheets unwound." She's got a very sultry voice. I knew I hadn't heard her here before. And wow, what a set of...

"There, all straightened out, Matthew. I think you must have had a nightmare. I heard you all the way down at the nurses' station. Are you okay now? Let me give you some water." She puts a hand on my shoulder. I get a whiff of starched cotton and antiseptics, with a hint of vanilla. I wonder how old she is. She pours me a drink of water, and puts it in my hand. I gulp it down, ashamed of myself for copping an unintentional feel, yet very curious about this woman.

"Thank you. I was dreaming about what happened right before my accident, but my feet were stuck in wet cement, and...and...I c-couldn't get to the old man in time." I realize that I'm trembling. Amanda smooths my hair and gives me a hug. Those boobs are gigantic. Even I couldn't miss those. Holy shit, Batman!

She lets go, and I fall back on my pillow. She pats my hand, and says she'll check back in on me later, and if I need something to just call. I smile, and thank her again. She gently closes the door, and I chastise myself for being such a baby about the dream. But then again, it had some decent consequences. I grin in spite of myself and try to go back to sleep.

-o-

It's another night where I can't tell what's real and what's a dream. I toss and turn for what seems like hours. There is a gentle knock on the door, and someone enters softly. It's not the night nurse, because I smell something more like incense, and hear the click of rosary beads again. It's Sister Maggie, someone else who has the night shift, and she's come again to check on me.

"Matthew? I heard you've had a bad night. May I stay with you for a little while?" Her voice is so calm and soothing.

I sit up in the bed. "Yes, Sister. I'd like that."

"What's on your mind? Do you want to talk about it?"

I blurt out, "Why did all this have to happen to me, Sister? Does God have some kind of warped sense of humor, or what? I try to save an old blind man from being run down by a truck. He's fine, but I get hit by the truck, and blind on top of that. I'm not sure I understand all the irony here."

"I don't think that any of us understand all the things that happen to us, Matthew. I just know we can't second-guess our Father. Say, would you like to come to mass in the morning in the chapel? I think you might enjoy the music. I'd be glad to come around to bring you."

"No, I don't think I want to go down there. People will stare at me and go 'look at that poor blind boy'. I hear what people are whispering when they think I can't hear them, Sister Maggie. I can't handle it."

"What would you say if we went to the chapel now? I'm sure the floor nurse will let me take you if you'd like to go. It'll be quiet down there at this hour, and maybe you can find a little peace. How about it?"

"Now? What time is it?" I don't have my watch on. I regret taking it off to go to bed.

"It's almost three. If you want to put on a robe, I can guide you to the chapel. Shall I go tell them at the nurses' station?"

"Okay. Let me do that, and I'll be ready when you come back." I slide my feet to the floor and into my slippers as I hear her head for my door. "And Sister, thanks."

"Anything I can do to help, Matthew. That's what I'm here for."

-o-

The chapel smells like candle wax, incense and Murphy's Oil Soap. Sister Maggie guides my hand to the vessel of holy water just inside the door, and I cross myself. She takes me to a pew, and I genuflect out of sheer habit before I slide over to sit down. I hear her pull down a kneeler that squeaks as she gets on her knees to pray. I stay seated next to her. Right now, I'm still pretty mad at God about what's happened to me. I don't exactly feel like praying.

It _is_ fairly quiet in here, though. I can hear Sister Maggie's murmured prayers, her fingers counting her beads as she says the Our Father and Hail Mary. I imagine the crucifix hanging above the altar, Jesus with the nails holding him on the cross. He didn't get a very good deal considering all the sacrifices he made, either, did he? What is it about no good deed goes unpunished?

It was just a fact of life that us Catholic kids in the neighborhood went to catechism. It was as much a social activity in my young life as it was a religious one. Just something that you did. Dad didn't drag me to mass every morning like some of the old folks went to, but we did observe the major holy days like Christmas, Ash Wednesday, and Easter, and we went to mass sporadically. So I might know some of the mechanics of the rituals. That doesn't mean I really get what it's all about sometimes. Like now. Where's the justice in doing something good for someone else? I tried to do the right thing, and now my life is seriously screwed up. Permanently.

Sister Maggie eases back into the pew, and for a moment, all I hear is her measured breathing. Then I think I hear a stifled sob, and a slight sniffle. Is she crying? Maybe I'm reading too much into the sounds next to me.

"Are you okay, Matthew?" she whispers. "Is there anything you'd like for me to pray about for you?"

"No. I'm really not interested in that right now," I hiss back.

"It's okay to be angry, Matthew. You just need to know that God is not punishing you with affliction. Instead, you should be considering the gifts He has given you."

You're dead right I'm angry. "Okay, Sister...what's the deal here? How am I supposed to better myself like my father wants me to, if I have to start all over again learning how to read, how to walk down the street by myself, how to have a "normal" life? I don't get how this translates into receiving a _gift. _Can you explain that to me?"

"No, I can't explain it, exactly. But you still have your other senses, and a very intelligent mind. You have to use those to compensate for your lack of sight. No one says it will be easy. The thing to remember is to take the things that life hands you, and make the very most of them. We have a merciful God, and He will help you find your way, if you let Him. Life doesn't come with guarantees."

Merciful? I grit my teeth and say nothing. We sit quietly for a few more minutes, and I know I will have to come to grips with this seething anger. For right now, I decide to claim it for my own. I'm not ready to let God off the hook for this blindness mess. "Let's go, Sister. I'm done here."

She leads me back to my room, and quietly says, "God really has blessed you, Matthew. You just don't know it yet." She pats my hand, and leaves me to my thoughts. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sister." The door clicks shut.

I climb back into bed and stare into my darkness. My thoughts race again, until sleep finally overtakes me.


	14. Chapter 14

Accidental Hero

Chapter 14

Sunday morning dawns for me with the same darkness I'll have for the rest of my life. I'm not in a much better mood than I was when I was talking with Sister Maggie last night.

The weekend doctor who comes in to see me takes off the bandages, and tells me that the area around my eyes is healing quite well now, and that he had asked Dr. Pruitt about leaving them off so I can get a decent shower without worrying about getting them wet again. He cautions me about not rubbing my eyes, and says that we might go to a different type of dressing to keep me from accidentally doing that. I don't need to have the salve any more, and I certainly won't miss that greasy, stinky stuff.

Breakfast comes, some French toast and sausage, orange juice, and milk. I think I dripped some syrup onto my pajamas, so I'll have to remember to give them to Dad to take home to wash. I can sleep in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, so no big deal. I grab a clean shirt and jeans from the drawer beside the bed, along with a pair of socks and underwear, and go on into the bathroom for a shower. I stack the clean clothes on the edge of the sink and strip off the sticky pajamas, wadding them up in a tight ball to put in my gym bag later.

I relax under the flow of the hot water, letting it pound on the back of my neck and shoulders. The tension I had earlier seems to melt away some, and I pour some shampoo into my hand, really scrubbing my hair vigorously with both hands. I put my head under the spray, with my face downwards, keeping the water from running directly onto my face. The washcloth feels very rough on my skin. I avoid getting too close to my eyes. Everything else is fair game, though, and I spread the creamy lather on the rest of me. The steam from the shower feels really good. I listen to the splatter of the water on the tiles around me, and put both hands on the shower wall as I again let the hot water massage my back.

Before I start to get all pruny from too much water, I shut it off and towel myself off. I'm very careful when I dry my face, patting gently around my closed eyes. I get dressed in the bathroom, brush my teeth, and run my fingers through my hair because I don't know if Dad brought me a comb or not and I forgot to ask. I reach out and touch the mirror I know is above the sink, and it occurs to me that I will stay a fifteen year old kid in my own mind's eye forever. Since I have no bandages, I explore the damage. There seem to be some scars around my eyes, and I gingerly touch my closed eyelids. It doesn't hurt now. I wonder how I look. I suppose I should think about getting some sunglasses, so people won't get all freaked out when they see me. Maybe I can ask Dad to get me a pair at the drug store. Just as long as I don't end up with some Ray Charles shades. Yuck. I frown at my unseen reflection.

-o-

Someone must have come in while I was in the shower and left me a Sunday newspaper. I smell the ink and newsprint on my bed table where my breakfast tray had been. I guess whoever the volunteer was today wasn't clued in on the blind guy in room 503. Dad will be happy to get the paper. Maybe I can get him to tell me what's going on in the world today. Speak of the devil, here he comes. I hear him greet the staff at the nurses' station, listen for his heavy footsteps as he comes in the door. I smile, because I can also smell homemade chocolate chip cookies.

"Mornin', son! I brought your clean clothes." He stops dead in his tracks in the doorway. "Hey, you got the bandages off! Uh...th-that's great!"

I'd momentarily forgotten about that fact. The shock in his voice is subtle, but I hear it. Damn. I try to keep myself from reacting, to not let him know that I know he's lying to me. I change the subject.

"You must have seen Aunt Grace last night. I smell cookies. Chocolate chip, I hope?" Knowing full well that's what they are.

"Oh, yeah...well...right! Chocolate chip. She said they were always your favorite. She just baked them this morning. They're still a little warm. Here..." He touches my arm, and I hold out my hands. I'm rewarded with a bag containing a little slice of heaven like only Aunt Grace could provide. I reach in and chomp down on a warm circle of chocolate-y goodness.

"Man, these are good! Here, Dad, help yourself. Awesome cookies. Please tell Aunt Grace I owe her big time for these." I hold out the bag to him, and I hear him just fold the top and set the bag to the side. He's upset. I know it.

I continue to savor the cookie, even though I know what's going on in his mind. He's thinking about what a mess we are in...what a mess I probably really look like. I swallow the last bite. Might as well talk about the elephant in the room here.

"Alright, Dad. I know you must be shocked at the way I look from the way you're acting. Give it to me straight. Tell me what my eyes look like. I want to know. And no lying to me, either. If I think you are, I'll just ask the doctor straight up when he comes in tomorrow. He'll tell me if you won't, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"Aw, Matty...", he groans. I hear him pacing the floor, then he comes up to me and puts both hands on my shoulders, looking me square in the face. I can imagine that he's blinking back tears, because I think he just wiped his face on his sleeve. "You had such pretty blue eyes when you were a baby, like your mother's." He hesitates. "Now they're sorta cloudy looking, more white than blue. Maybe that will change in time."

"Fat chance, Dad, but thanks for telling me." I pull him toward me in a hug. "I know that wasn't any easier for you to say than it was for me to hear." We pound each other on the back in that way that guys do. Neither of us is used to this sort of display of affection. We both need it.

-o-

The day nurse comes in and tells me that the doctor has ordered something called occlusers for me. She explains that they are just a type of bandage that fits over the eye that doesn't require any padding or extra tape. She puts one in my hand while she peels the backing off the other. It feels like a bandaid, only sort of oval shaped. She then tells me to close my eyes, but not tight, and she sticks one on each eye. I guess it must have stuff over the eye part like bandaids have in the middle. The adhesive is only on the edge. She says this will be easier on me for now, and that I don't have to replace them until the adhesive quits sticking to me, like a couple of days. I'm sure by "easier", she means that people won't have to look at my messed up eyes.

-o-

Dad shuffles the newspaper while I half-heartedly listen to Meet the Press. He occasionally reads me something that he thinks I'll be interested in, and of course, when he gets to the sports section, he reads me the account of his fight the previous Friday night. It was really cool to hear it from the sports writer's perspective, but nowhere near as exciting as the way Dad told me. I really am proud of him, and I tell him so. I'm reminded about Antoine, who was the fight fan on the other floor, and I tell Dad he should look him up because Antoine wants to meet him and talk about boxing. We decide to ask at the nurses' station when we go for lunch if they can help us find out when he's working next. I think that sorta brought Dad out of his earlier funk.

We do that on the way to the elevator. I've decided to leave my cane in the room so we can just go sighted guide to the cafeteria. It's one less piece of equipment to deal with for now. The old man is getting good at guiding me, and I tell him so. I feel him beaming down at me. "We make a good team, Matty. Always have."

-o-

With lunch under our belts, we go out to the patio again to enjoy the nice spring weather. Dad and I are getting the hang of navigating the panic doors...I still think that's sort of a funny name for them, even if it's a real term. Reminds me of panic buttons. We sit out in the open at a table this time. The city traffic never stops, even on Sunday, but it's been rerouted I'd say by the sound of road work. The jackhammers are having a field day out on the pavement.

"That street crew is awfully loud to be around a hospital. Guess they still have to fix the potholes, huh, Dad?"

"What? No, son...they aren't working around here. It's several blocks up the street."

"Are you sure they haven't moved closer?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Don't you hear all that racket?"

"All I hear is people talking out here on the patio. Well, maybe a little street noise, but no jackhammers or anything like that. Is that what you think you hear?"

"Yeah! It's beginning to give me a headache. Now there's some firetrucks, too. Let's go back in, Dad. I think I need some aspirin or something." Feels like I need a panic button right about now. I stand up, and follow him back inside. Not that it's a lot quieter in here, but it's sure not as loud as out there.

-o-

We get back to the floor, but before the elevator doors open, I hear a big commotion going on. Lots of people are in the hall, and as soon as we step off the elevator, I hear, "Here they come now. That's Matthew Murdock and his dad." Snick-snick-snick-snick. Cameras? Dad stops suddenly, and I almost walk right into him.

"Mr. Murdock! How do you feel about your son being a hero?" Someone shouts over the din.

Snick-snick-snick-snick-snick. "Matthew, what made you decide to be a Good Samaritan?"

People are crowding around us, and I duck my head. I don't want this, and am pretty certain that Dad isn't comfortable about it either. He puts his arm around me protectively, and steps up to shield me from the reporters. "Back off, you guys! Give us some room." More camera shutters click. I assume someone is sticking a microphone in Dad's face. I feel him flinch backwards.

"Mr. Murdock! The mayor is here to give your son a commendation for his bravery. Surely you'll allow us to interview you both about that?"

"The mayor? Here? Well...we..." I feel someone grab my arm from the opposite side from where my dad is standing. I jerk away, want to run, but I've got no choice but to stand here. Dad sees my panic, and growls a warning to the person who grabbed at me. "Hands off my boy, you jerk!" I think he might be ready to deck him right here and now.

"Easy, folks." A voice I've heard on the radio and tv approaches. "Mr. Murdock...and Matthew...I'm Ed Koch, the mayor of New York City. I'm pleased to meet both of you. Please, step over here with me."

Dad guides me over to a spot near the day room. He turns me away from the wall with a perfect about face maneuver, and I feel his back straighten as he stands tall. Snick-snick-snick. That noise is driving me nuts! What is going on here?

Then the mayor intones, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to honor one of New York's finest young citizens. A bit over a week ago, Matthew Murdock here unselfishly risked his own life to save another pedestrian, Mr. Alonzo Peña, from certain harm when a truck was running a red light as Mr. Peña was crossing the street. Matthew pushed Mr. Peña out of harm's way. The truck was carrying an illegal load of hazardous waste through the city, and when it swerved, some of that cargo fell onto Matthew. The radioactive waste spilled into his face, and as a result, Matthew lost his sight. Although nothing could ever repay you for your loss, Matthew, I want you to know how much your actions mean to everyone. Especially to Mr. Peña, who is here today to thank you in person."

The corridor erupts into applause, causing me to wince, because my head is really starting to pound. A rough, leathery hand grasps mine, and I hear a hoarse voice whisper, "Thank you for saving my life, young man. Words cannot express how wonderful I think you are." His suit smells of mothballs.

"You're welcome, Mr. Peña." I hope he can hear me. He certainly didn't hear me warn him of the truck bearing down on him. "It's good to meet you again." I really mean that, because we could very well have both been killed that day. I just hope I don't end up getting run over by another truck myself.

The applause dies down, and the mayor begins again. "Matthew, I'd like to present you with this citation, which reads 'Hereby, we, the people of New York City, recognize Matthew Michael Murdock for his bravery in the selfless act of saving a fellow citizen from certain peril. He is awarded the Civilian Medal of Honor this 15th day of April, 1988. Signed, Edward Koch, Mayor of the City of New York'. Here, Matthew, let me shake your hand." Mr. Mayor grabs my hand and pumps it gratuitously for the cameras. Snick-snick-snick. I look toward my feet. I'm totally embarrassed by this entire thing.

He lets go of my hand and turns to Dad. "Mr. Murdock, you have a fine boy here. Please take this plaque as a token of our appreciation for your son's courage." I'd guess he's pumping Dad's hand now. The cameras are still clicking away. Someone claps me on the shoulder, and I flinch. I reach out for my father. "Dad? Get me out of here. Please?" I feel him tap my hand, and I grab onto him for dear life. We make a hasty retreat through the camera gauntlet back to my room, and Dad slams the door behind us. I can smell his nervous sweat.

"What an ambush! Matty, are you okay? I had no idea that was going to happen, really. Nobody told me about anything like this."

"I'm fine, Dad. A little shaken up, maybe. I guess the politicians always have to have their big scene, huh?" I flop onto the bed, relieved that it's over. I hope I never have to meet a bunch of reporters like that ever again.

"Well, this really is a nice thing they gave you here. Feel this wood, and the brass plate with your name and stuff engraved on it. It's pretty impressive, Matty." He hands me the heavy plaque, and I'm amazed at how big it is. I'm sure the old man will find somewhere to hang it. I have no idea where, though. I don't know if we have a wall space big enough for that. I really could care less.

"Yeah, Dad, real nice." I run my fingers over the engraving. I can sort of make out my name, because it's in really big letters. "If we run out of heat some winter, we can burn it in a barrel out in the alley to keep warm. I need to call the nurse for something for my headache. This is getting pretty intense."

I find the call button, and in a few minutes, the nurse comes in. She asks me if I think I need something stronger than aspirin, because the doctor has left an order that I can have something more if I'm in a lot of pain. I tell her yes, because the pain behind my eyes has become so unbearable that I think I might fall out if I stand up. Dad fusses over me while she's gone, and when she comes back, it's with a really big pill of some kind. She hands that and a cup of water to me. "That should also help you to relax, Matthew. You look like you could use some rest."

I down the pill, and lay back on my pillow. "Dad, don't forget to take my dirty laundry with you, okay? I'm sorry, but I spilled syrup on my pajamas this morning, so they might be kinda sticky. Oh, and take the paper with you if you want. I'm sure you're not through reading it."

"I'll get them, son. You rest and I'll just head on home. Miss Jewel asked me to be here at ten in the morning for some more training stuff. I'll see you then. He puts my clean clothes in the drawer, and stuffs the dirty ones into my gym bag. "And son...I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad."


	15. Chapter 15

Accidental Hero

Chapter 15

I sleep until almost suppertime. In my dreams, schoolyard bullies catch up with me on the way home. They taunt me mercilessly, using their favorite nickname for me. They call me a daredevil, because it's the farthest thing from the truth. I run from them. They throw rocks at me. I can't seem to get away from the torment.

I shrug off the dream, go to the bathroom, and check my watch. It's nearly five, so supper will be here shortly. Funny...when you have nothing really to do, mealtime suddenly becomes sort of an event. I've learned to listen for the heavy wheeled carts they bring up from the kitchen with all the trays on them. The rattle of dishes gets closer and closer, and before my tray even gets here, I can usually figure out what's on it. Or at least, the main dish. I just heard the cart, and it's next door. I think it's grilled cheese sandwiches tonight. Food service brings in the tray, and I'm right. Good. Grilled cheese is comfort food to me. Especially now, because it's convenient to eat. Mmm.

My headache has eased somewhat down to a low roar. When I finish the last of the sandwich, I flip on the tv. The evening news is on. I feel an itch on the side of my nose, and when I go to scratch it, I remember the occlusers that are covering my eyes. Oh, crap. That's gotta look wonderful. The news anchor is talking about the mayor's visit to St. Vincent's Hospital. I hear the condensed version of this afternoon's debacle. Mayor Koch reads the proclamation, and here's Matthew Murdock, looking like a dweeb on the six o'clock news. Another reason for those idiots at school to rag on me. Like they needed any more ammunition. Geez.

After a few minutes, my phone rings. Damn thing scares me every time. Who's calling me? Surely not Dad, because he's probably at the gym. "Hello?"

"Matt? It's Jenny Lancaster. You know, the candy striper." I hear a giggle in her voice. "Krissy and I were doing some math homework together at my house, and just saw you on the news. You're famous!"

I cringe. "Oh, hey, Jenny. I had no idea that was going to happen, honest."

"It was great, Matt, and your dad looked so proud of you. He's kind of a scary looking guy, though. Really big next to Mayor Koch." Another giggle, this time it might be from Krissy.

"He's not scary, really." I smile. He seems to have that impression on people. The intimidation factor, he calls it. "He's a professional boxer, a light heavyweight. He's supposed to look scary, I guess. Mayor Koch isn't as tall as I thought he would be either. He must stand on a box to give his speeches." That made both the girls laugh. Cool.

"You're funny, Matt. I like a guy with a sense of humor. Most guys I know are so stuck on themselves that they wouldn't know funny if it slapped them."

"Uh, thanks...I guess."

"Well, we have to finish our homework. I hope it's okay that we called you. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I suppose not. I appreciate that you called. It's fine with me."

"Okay, then. Bye, Matt!"

"Bye, Jenny...and Krissy." She hangs up, and I sit here with the receiver in my hand, and a dial tone buzzing in my ear. I can't believe they called me. Never had girls call me before. That was kind of fun, actually. I put the receiver back, and sit back in the recliner. Maybe if she calls again, I can ask her what her number is. Rats. I don't have any way to write it down. And if I did, I couldn't read it later. Damn. This is not good. I'm going to have to get serious and learn braille.

-o-

I spend a little while practicing in my room with my cane. The rhythm of the hand movement is becoming a lot easier the more I do it. Coordinating my feet with the swing of the cane is a little harder. Maybe when I get to go outside the room more, and I have a longer space to walk in, I'll get the hang of it. I really am ready to go home. I'm sick of this place. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to sneak down to Fogwell's Gym and work up a good sweat when the old man's not around. How the hell am I going to do that? I can't find my way out of this damn hospital, much less find my way around Hell's Kitchen by myself. How long will it take before I can have some sort of a normal life, or will I _ever _have anything like a normal life?

Do all blind people hear the things that I do? When will everything stop being so damn loud? I'm beginning to wonder just how much truth there is to the other senses compensating for the loss of one. I don't know if it's just that I'm listening so much harder now, paying attention to things I never did before, or if somehow whatever happened to me has made me have better hearing—and smell, for that matter. I swear, I can tell when Dad's coming in here way before he gets to the door, almost as soon as he gets off the elevator. If my sense of smell is better now, it's going to be murder when we get home. Sometimes, Dad can really tie one on, and comes home smelling like a brewery. It'll give a new meaning to the term stinking drunk.

Both Dave and Miss Jewel have talked about how I'm going to have to concentrate more as I do things. It's been really hard to sort out the important stuff from the barrage of sounds, smells, and...sensations. Sometimes I imagine that I can almost see the form of an object around me. I'll reach out and there _will_ be something there, like the furniture, or the carts out in the hall. It's like I _know_ what's around me. Not really anything definite. Just a vague sense that an object is there. I don't even know what this means. I'll have to ask Dave tomorrow.

Guess I'll change into my pajamas and go to bed. Suddenly this whole crazy day has made me very tired.

-o-

I'm tired, but I can't sleep. So restless. It's just now only about ten. Wonder who's on the night shift tonight? Is Sister Maggie on duty? Somehow, I wish she'd come back tonight to talk with me. I was sorta rude to her last night. Maybe she'll be back. There are some things that I'd like to discuss. Not religious stuff, just regular stuff. I put on my robe and think about venturing out into the halls by myself. Well...with my cane. I wouldn't make any more noise with that than things I already hear going on out there. Dad has escorted me around the perimeter of the floor a couple of times, and I think I can find my way at least to the end of this corridor and back. If not, I'm sure I can suck it up and ask someone to help me find my way back here. The day room is to the right of the elevators, I know that much. Maybe they won't care if I just go down there and sit for a while.

I pick up my cane from its place by the night stand and take a deep breath. I listen for voices in the hall, and mostly what I hear are people snoring, or televisions blaring. So, let's give it a shot, Matt. Out the door, to the right. Shoreline against the wall on the right side. I sense something in front of me, and whap! A metallic sound. Probably a supply cart. I ease around it, and then...

"Matthew! What are you doing prowling around this time of night?" It sounds like the night nurse, Amanda. She must have come in early.

"Oh, is it night? I didn't know." I quip. "How are you this evening, Amanda...is it?"

"Never mind me, young man. I don't think you're supposed to be out wandering the halls by yourself. Where did you think you were going?" She doesn't sound amused in the least.

"Uh...to the day room. I was just bored, and couldn't sleep. I figured I could get there okay. Please don't make me go back right now" I plead. "Can I please go in there and just sit for a little bit?"

"Well, at least let me guide you down there, Matthew. There's a lot of equipment in the hall tonight, and the cleaning crew is going to be buffing the floors before long. I don't suppose it would hurt for you to sit down there for a few minutes. But let me come back to get you, okay? No need for you to run the obstacle course this time of night. You might wake some people up." She touches my arm, and I take her elbow. We make the short trip down the hall, and I'm deposited in a chair in the day room.

I can feel the coolness of the glass in the window behind my head. I put my knees in the seat of the chair as I turn to put my hands on that cold surface. The wind is blowing, vibrating the windows. It's as if the building has a pulse, because I'm close to the elevators, and I hear the mechanical gears and pulleys and the rush of the air that precedes the elevator car on its way up. I really_ listen_, and the traffic noise wafts up from the street. I'm mesmerized by the rhythms, losing myself in the sounds. So much that I'm listening to far away things and don't notice when Amanda walks up to me and tells me it's time to go back to my room. I sigh heavily, turn away from the windows, and crawl off the chair.

"Time's up! Back to bed!" Amanda taps my arm, and I reach out to take her elbow. Only this time, I intentionally overshoot my mark.

"Oops." I try to put on an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry."

"I just bet you are." I hear the barest of smirks in her voice. "Let's go, mister."

I follow obediently behind her, trying so hard to contain a laugh. I think I've just discovered a 'handy' way to cop a feel and plead clumsiness. That should be useful in the years to come. I suppress my own smirk, and thank her for her help.

"Need anything else, Matthew?"

"No, ma'am. I think you've done enough. Thanks." Oh, yeah. More than you know. I think I have a world class hard-on. At least I don't have to worry about one of the supposed side effects of, well, you know. If I die tonight, it'll be with a smile on my face. And who could blame me?


	16. Chapter 16

Accidental Hero

Chapter 16

"Good morning, Matthew." Dr. Pruitt is here on his early rounds. He peels the occlusers off my eyes and takes a look at how I'm healing up. "You seem to be doing well. Any complaints?"

"No, sir. I'm just tired of being here. When can I go home?"

"Soon, Matthew. Medically, you seem to be doing well. I need to speak to the rehab specialists to see how that's going, and when they're satisfied that you have the basic skills you need, we'll cut you loose. Does that sound okay to you?"

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"We want you to keep wearing the occlusers for a couple more weeks, at least at night, to help you keep from accidentally rubbing your eyes. After that, you won't need to do it any more. Alright?"

"Sure, okay."

"Then I'll put some notes in your file and I'll see what I can do to get you home. Take care, now."

"Thanks, doc."

Wonder what Miss Jewel and Dave are going to report. Man, I hope I'm doing well enough to go. Not that I know what I will do when I get home, it's just that I'm so tired of being here. Dad's supposed to be here this morning to meet with Miss Jewel again. We'll see what she's got on the agenda for today.

-o-

After breakfast and a shower, I feel a lot better. Last night was pretty rocky for me. I just can't seem to sleep on a regular schedule. I suppose I should practice with the cane some more. Getting out of here depends so much on how quickly I can get some decent skills going. I don't try going out in the hall, because I hear a lot of activity out there. All the old people are shuffling around on their walkers, it sounds like. That really would be a moving obstacle course. Best to stay in here for now.

There's a knock on the door. "Matthew?" It's Sister Maggie. She's here late. "May I come in?"

"Sure! How are you, Sister?" I lean my cane against the wall, and sit down on the bed. "I was hoping you'd come last night, but I'm glad you're here now."

"Oh? Why is that? Was there something you wanted to talk about, Matthew?"

"I sort of couldn't sleep last night, and a lot of stuff was on my mind, you know." I'm not exactly sure if I know how to frame my thoughts. Especially after the thing with the night nurse. Good thing Sister Maggie doesn't read minds.

"I see. What were you thinking about?"

"I dunno. I guess...well...about how I'm going to manage things once I get home. How things are going to be in school, how people are going to treat me now that I'm....blind." I still find that word hard to say. "If I'll ever have a girlfriend...stuff like that. I know I look different now. How bad is it, Sister? I know _you_ wouldn't lie to me." Or at least, I hope not.

She exhales slowly. "No, I wouldn't, Matthew. This is the first time I've seen you without the bandages. You have a few scars around your eyes, still a bit pink, but beginning to fade. Are you worried about what your eyes look like? They are somewhat cloudy-looking, but certainly not bad. Quite a beautiful shade of blue, really. You know, if you feel self-conscious about it, you could wear dark glasses. No one would fault you for that. You are quite a handsome young man. You favor your father quite a bit."

"You've met my father?" It seems like I can hear her heart begin to race. No, I suppose that's probably her breathing. I surely can't be hearing her heartbeat.

"I saw him sitting up with you when you first were admitted here. I haven't actually spoken to him." She seems a bit nervous.

"I'd like for you to meet him if you have time. He's coming in at ten to talk to Miss Jewel about some more of my training." I check my watch. It's nine forty-five.

"Uh...Matthew, that would be quite nice, but I'm rather tired after the night shift, and I really should be getting along. Please excuse me. I need to get some sleep."

"Maybe later, then? Thanks for stopping by. I enjoy talking with you, Sister." She seems to be in a hurry to get out of here. "Bye."

"Goodbye, Matthew. I'll try to stop in tonight." And she's gone.

-o-

Dad is right on time. My old man may be a lot of things, but above all he's punctual. When he's sober. He's been late a few times when he came home drunk on his ass, that's for sure. But not if he's sober.

"Hey, Dad! The doctor was in earlier, and he said I'm going to get to go home soon. How about that, huh?"

"That's great, son. Say, you look like things are going good. Is that what Dr. Pruitt said?" He doesn't quite sound right about something. I'm not sure about what.

"He said, quote: 'Medically, things are going well.' Then he said he'd have to talk over things with my rehab people to see how I'm doing there. I guess maybe Miss Jewel will have some input with that. We'll ask her when she gets here." I'm really going to be on my best behavior with her today.

"Uh...how come you don't have those bandage things over your eyes today?" Okay, so _that's _the elephant in the room this morning. I guess it bothers him more than he's admitted. "Are they coming back in to put them back on, or what?" It sorta sounds like he wishes they would.

Just as he's saying this, a knock at the door. Miss Jewel. "Hey, Matt! Hi, Mr. Murdock! Happy Monday!"

I smile in her direction, and she exclaims, "You got your bandages off! Congratulations!"

My smile quickly fades. "Not that I can tell any difference, but thanks, Miss Jewel." I almost wish I was still hiding behind them.

"Hi, Miss Jewel," Dad interjects. "What have you got for me and Matty today? We're ready to go, huh, Matty?" He's trying to sound cheerful. I'm not buying it. Whatever.

Miss Jewel stays upbeat, as always. "I've seen the notes from Dr. Pruitt. We need to do some more basic lessons to get you ready to go home, Matt. Of course, we can't begin to cover everything you need to know, but we'll do some things today that deal with everyday life. Mr. Murdock, we need to talk about some things at your home, first, okay?"

"Sure, like what?"

"One very important thing is that you need to not move any of the furniture from where it was when Matt last saw your place. He needs to have a frame of reference from his memory of what your home looks like. That will help him a great deal when he first arrives home."

"I've already moved some stuff. I thought it would be better if there weren't any tables in the middle of the floor, and chairs out, stuff like that, so he wouldn't run into any sharp corners."

"Dad! What did you do that for? I'm not going to break!" This annoys the hell out of me.

"Easy, Matt. He was just looking out for you. Natural parental instinct is all. No, Mr. Murdock, you have to put things back just as they were. Things will be less confusing for Matt that way. He'll do better if he can rely on his visual memory. Plus, he's learned some basic protective skills to help him keep safe. But to add to that, I need to give you a list of things that you need to remember." I hear paper rustling, probably her handing a sheet to Dad. "We won't go over all of them now, as you can read it later, but the big things to take note of are: don't move the furniture around without telling Matt, and don't leave doors or drawers part way open. Shut them completely, in the case of cabinets in the kitchen, or leave the door completely open between rooms. Matt's had instruction to help him avoid running into these things, but you learning to be consistent about this is the best thing you can do for him. We all forget now and then, I know. Just keep these things in mind."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of that as soon as I get home, don't you worry."

I can't help thinking what in the world Dad might have moved around. It's not like we have a lot of stuff in our place. Miss Jewel has more for me. "Matt, we need to go down to the occupational therapy room so I can show you some kitchen basics. Do you help with the kitchen chores now?"

Dad laughs at that one. "If he wants to eat, he does. I'm not much of a cook myself, so Matty here's taken to cooking out of self defense." More seriously he says, "Now I'm worried that he'll burn or cut himself."

"We'll do a few things today. Later, when Matt enrolls at the Lighthouse, they'll give him lessons on household skills, cleaning as well as cooking. Just because you can't see, you don't get to slack off on the chores." I grimace; she laughs. "Anyway, let's head downstairs and get busy. Mr. Murdock, how are you guys doing with your sighted guide training?"

I pipe up. "He's doing great, Miss Jewel. Dave Bryant was here Saturday, and we got a lesson about doors and stairs. He was very pleased."

"Oh, you got to meet Dave, Mr. Murdock? He's an excellent O&M instructor."

"Uh, yeah...I just didn't know he'd had _that _kind of experience. I mean, bein' blind himself and all." Neither did I, Dad. You aren't the only one who was surprised.

"He trained with some of the best, and he's the new generation of instructor. Who better to pass along the things Matt needs to know than someone who deals with the same problems himself? He's going to make a world of difference in Matt's life. You just watch. Now, Mr. Murdock, why don't you guide Matt down to the training room for me? Matt, you can take your cane so you can practice with it on the way back if you like." I grab the cane from the corner. I think I'll ask Dave about those fold-up ones today.

"Ready, son?" Dad taps my hand, and I latch onto his big burly arm.

"Ready, Dad. Forward, march!" We follow Miss Jewel's signature coconut scent out of the room and down to the elevator. When it arrives, we do our best about face inside, and I swear I hear my old man grinning. It was flawless.

"Very good, guys! What a team."

-o-

I'm really pissed off at myself. Miss Jewel tries to teach me how to pour liquid into a glass without spilling, and I have run it over twice already. I'm supposed to hook my finger over the lip of the glass and pour until I feel it touch my finger. I haven't been paying attention like I should. The third time better be the charm. Once more I pour water from the pitcher. "There you have it, Matt! It's just going to take a little practice is all." Wonderful. Now I might be able to get a glass of milk for myself. I'm a freakin' wonder boy.

We move over to another spot in the therapy room, where Miss Jewel says there's a kitchen set up. "Matt, one of the things you'll need to do, along with your dad, is to mark your cans and boxes of food in the pantry. The easiest way at first is to use rubber bands of various widths. You can work out your own system of marking. This also works for marking shampoo and conditioner bottles, or spices. Here, notice the difference in the width of the rubber bands I've put on these spice tins." She puts two items in my hands. I can tell right away one of them is cinnamon. It's got one band on it. The two band tin has something a little more exotic in it, something we don't have at home.

"What's this one? I don't recognize the smell." I hold out the second tin.

"That was basil leaves, but it's really an empty tin I brought in for training, just like the other one,that had cinnamon in it. Surely you don't smell anything in them now."

But I do. "You don't smell that?" I hold up the other tin in her direction.

"I'm afraid not, Matt. They've been here in our pantry for a couple of years now."

"Okay." Huh. Smells strong enough to me. I'll have to remember the basil. It smells nice, so it probably tastes pretty good, too. Wonder what you put that in? "What else do you mark like this?"

"Say you have containers in the freezer. One narrow rubber band might be the chili. A thick rubber band could be the chicken soup. Two crossed rubber bands could be something else. The key here is to designate a particular marking." She hands me a freezer container. The two thick rubber bands form a cross pattern on the lid. "You just have to remember your own codes."

I pluck the bands on the lid and make a twangy noise, then pass the container back to Miss Jewel. "So, how can I tell what's in a can? Shake it?" I grin at her, knowing that's not the answer.

"You could do that, but I wouldn't count on it being very accurate. Once you learn braille, you'll mark your cans when you bring them home from the store by putting a brailled card on each one with a rubber band. That way, when you use the canned goods, you can recycle the cards the next time you buy groceries. Pretty simple, really."

"As long as Dad is around to tell me what's in the cans before I put them up in the cupboard, yeah. Otherwise, it would be a real crap shoot for supper." That gets a chuckle from both her and my dad.

"Wouldn't want to have pork and beans with the pickled beets, now would you, Matty?"

"Ew, no! You know I hate pickled beets, Dad. Gross!" We all laugh at that thought. Who likes those things, anyway?

"On to better things." Miss Jewel directs our attention to another spot. "We've already talked about setting the table a certain way to help Matt find the utensils and dishes. We do need to address keeping things orderly in the cabinets. Plates need to be stacked together, cups in one spot, glasses in their own spot. And if you have a drawer that you just throw things in, you might need to sort that out and put some dividers in it. You don't want to be fishing around in a drawer and run up on a sharp object. Check out the dividers in this drawer, Matt." She guides my hand to the drawer. The utensils are neatly stacked in the dividers.

"The forks are all facing the same way and the spoons are...spooning!" I've never seen the kitchen at our house be _this_ tidy. "You think we can be this organized, Dad?"

He's right beside me, peering into the drawer. "I suppose we can try. Anything to keep you safe. We should get someplace to keep the sharp knives besides the same drawer as the butter knives. I think we can manage that. But I won't move it around until you get home, so's we can both know where everything is, okay?"

"Works for me, Dad. What else have you got to show us, Miss Jewel?"

"I don't think that we will go into chopping vegetables or anything. They have a great program at the Lighthouse to get you started cooking again. I think you can wait for that. There's also a course on housekeeping, where you'll learn how to wash dishes, clean the bathroom, sweep the floors, things like that."

"Oh, whoopee."

"I hope they teach you how to take out the garbage, Matty. You've never been very good at that," Dad teases.

"Daaaaaaaaaad! You make me sound like a total slacker!"

"He's not, really, Miss Jewel. He's always been pretty good about the chores. With just him and me, it's not too bad at all. He's a good kid."

"I figured as much, Mr. Murdock. I think that I'll recommend that Matt can go home tomorrow. I'm sure that Dave will agree, and he will continue with Matt's O&M lessons at your home and at the Lighthouse. Someone else from there will pick up with the occupational therapy. I've really enjoyed you, Matt. Most of my patients are older stroke victims, or accident victims much older than you. It's been a pleasure to work with a young man such as yourself. I'm just sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I know you'll do fine in your rehab studies."

"Thanks, Miss Jewel. You've been great. I've learned a lot." She puts a hand on my shoulder, and gives it a gentle squeeze. Every time I smell coconut from now on, I'll think of her.

Dad and Miss Jewel exchange pleasantries, and she reminds him about the list she gave him. I take Dad's arm, and we head out to the cafeteria for lunch. I'm hungry. Hope there's something good today.

-o-

Lunch was fun. Dad and I are getting good at maneuvering in the cafeteria line. We sit outside again for a little while, then go back to my room, using the stairs instead of the elevator for practice. I can tell it still makes Dad a little uneasy for me to use my cane on the stairs, but he's going to have to get used to it. He won't always be around to catch me if I fall.

Five floors is a pretty good climb. The old man isn't really winded that much, but I can tell he gets a little slower the higher we got. I've seen him trudge up to our fourth floor apartment many a night, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, because he was so tired. He's not getting any younger, that's for sure. Wonder how much longer he's going to try to keep boxing. That's taken quite a toll on him over the years, and now he's got me to worry about. Guy just can't catch a break.

We settle in the dayroom for a little bit, and Dad reads me the sports section of today's paper. The baseball teams are doing spring training down in Florida, and he likes to keep up with who makes the team and how the stats are going. He's a diehard Yankees fan.

My attention wanders as I focus on the traffic outside the windows. The dayroom must be right over the street, because I can hear the blaring horns and the shouts of angry cab drivers. I don't hear it quite as much in my room. I never thought about which direction it faces. I must be on the side nearer the atrium. Yeah, that makes sense. Otherwise it would sound about the same as in here. I think this area is actually in the corner of the building. It sounds like there are windows on two adjacent walls. Sound bounces off glass differently than it does a solid wall, I've noticed.

"Dad, there's no one else in here right now, right?"

"No, son, just us."

"Okay." I thought so. I didn't think I heard anyone else breathing, and I'm a little restless, so I take my cane and explore the room a little. I follow the row of chairs we've been sitting in to the wall away from the door. My cane finds another row of chairs running perpendicular to the first row before my shins do, and it sounds like the windows are behind them. I lean across the chair to touch the wall, and I feel the warmth of the sun on the glass. I suppose that means it's a west window, since it's afternoon. I focus again on the street noise which is pretty loud right now; everybody must be late coming back from the power lunches by the way all the taxis are honking. I continue to my right, finding a table between some of the chairs, and finally one in the corner of the room. I turn right again, using the pencil grip to keep my cane closer to me. I reach across this seat to confirm that my suspicions about two window walls were correct. I can't help smiling to myself that I got something right. Then it occurs to me that I don't hear Dad turning the pages of the paper any more. He must be watching me. Oh shit. I can only imagine how it looks for me to be groping around like this. He clears his throat.

I turn to face his general direction. "What's up, Dad? Am I about to step in something?" I grin at him to hide the embarrassment I feel right now.

"Hey, Matt! Taking a little tour of the premises?" I smile wider when I recognize Dave's voice. I wasn't paying attention, so I didn't hear him coming.

"Hi, Dave! Yeah, getting the ten cent tour. Did you hear? They're gonna let me loose from here tomorrow!"

"Awesome, dude! And not a minute too soon, huh?" He walks toward me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Say, I have a little 'getting the hell out of Dodge' present for you." He puts something in my hand. "Try these on for size."

It's a pair of sunglasses. They have metal frames, and I'm guessing they are sort of aviator style. I unfold them and put them on. Dave is the coolest guy to think of this. "Thanks, man! I really had been thinking about if I should get some or not. I mean, not like I _need_ them, but maybe to cover up some stuff, you know? Am I cool, Dad, or what?" I turn back toward him and give him a cheesy grin.

"Damn straight, son. You look like Hollywood now." He laughs with me.

Dave gives me one of those manly shoves on the shoulder. "I figured that if I have to wear them, then you do, too, right?" Then he lowers his voice, talking just to me. "I really do have to wear shades, Matt, because the glare kills me out in the sun. I can't see shit anyway, so I feel like you're actually the lucky one in this case." Then louder, to Dad, "Part of the uniform, after all." He pokes me on the arm again. "You guys ready to boogie?"

"Sure, why not?" I hear Dad leave the newspaper behind and come over to join us.

"We're going to do the stairs a little more first, okay? I need to show you a couple more tricks about that."

Dad and I both groan. "We just went up five floors and back, Dave," I whine.

Dave laughs at us both. "I promise we won't go that far. I just want to give you a little more instruction about stairs, since they are probably the biggest hazards we face, other than traffic, and the occasional open manhole. Or maybe a ditch. Or an open elevator shaft..." he trails off.

"I get the drift," I snort. "Onward, fearless leader." I'm sure glad Dave Bryant can take a joke. I could have done a lot worse getting some old fart to be my instructor.

"Jack, let's have you take Matt sighted guide to the stairwell, okay? Then I can check how you guys are doing with the doors, and we'll head up a couple of flights. I promise not to give us a coronary."

I take Dad's arm, and Dave follows us to the stairs. He seems pleased with the way we do the door thing, and he tells me to find the stairs. I reach out with the cane and walk to the right. I feel the air current flowing up the stairs, and the cane touches the bottom step. "Hold it right there for a moment, Matt." I stop, and listen carefully to Dave. "I want you to sweep out to the sides with your cane and determine just where you are on the stairs, how close you are to either wall." I find that I'm closer to the right wall. "Okay, since you know that most of the time, people tend to keep to the right on a stairway, it's better to stay to the right side, where you can touch the handrail if there is one. Most of the time, there will be one on one side or the other. If your right hand is free, use it to help guide yourself up the stairs. You can keep the cane in a pencil grip in the left hand, using it to determine the step ahead of your foot. This is actually easier than without a handrail, I'm sure you'll agree. I just wanted you to know the hard way first, so you could use it when there isn't a handrail, or if you are carrying something, like a briefcase."

"Oh, sure, like I'm going to be all professional someday, uh huh." That came out sort of surly. I didn't mean for it to sound that way, so I cover with a chuckle. "Who knows, I might become the governor of New York?"

"Yeah, and I'd vote for you, too, Matt. Now, back to the facts at hand. Head on up that set of stairs, and follow on up the next flight, alright? Jack, give him a few steps lead time, then I'll follow you."

I make it up to the second landing with only a minor screwup. I turn a little too sharp at the first landing and find myself too far to the left on the stair. A little course correction, and I'm good. Dave gives me encouragement and tells me to stop and turn around to come back down, but wait for him. "I want you to do the descent this time a little differently, Matt. You should still find your center on the stairs after you find the first step. Go ahead and do that."

I ease forward and locate the dropoff of the step. "Now, center yourself, but be careful not to get too close to the step itself just yet. Find the handrail on your right." I follow his instructions. "Hold your cane in the pencil grip, and find the edge of the step. Good. Now hold onto the handrail, and make sure you lean a little backwards as you start down the stairs. Find the next step, and since you know about how wide the tread is on them from experience, let your cane slide over the edge of the step, and hold it out diagonally so it just touches the edge of each step on the way down. You'll feel the end of the stairs with your cane, and you'll know you're at the bottom a couple of steps ahead. Take it slowly this time."

There's the edge of the first step. I grip the handrail, and lower my cane over the edge. "Don't forget to lean backwards a little, Matt. It'll help you keep your balance a lot better." Dave is right behind me this time, close enough to see what I'm doing, I guess. "Extend your cane so that it's not dragging on the steps, but sort of gliding down them in front of you. I know this seems a little weird right now, but I guarantee it'll get easier soon." He's far enough not to crowd me, but close enough to grab me if I fall. "Yeah, that's the way. Keep going until you feel the cane hit the landing." A couple more steps, and there it is.

"How was that?"

"Not bad, ace. Follow on around and do the same thing on the next flight. Take it easy. I don't want you to get road rash before you get to go home."

We go on down to the floor we came in on. "Want to stop here?" I'm hopeful.

"Nope. I want you to practice for another floor or so. We can always ride the elevator back up."

All this time, Dad's been quiet. It sounds like he's holding his breath as I go down each flight. "You alright up there, Dad? Did we lose you somewhere?" I want him to relax.

"Fine, son. You just pay attention to what you're doing, and never mind me."

We keep spiraling down the stairwell for what seems forever. I think I have this pretty well figured out, and Dave keeps encouraging me. Finally, I think we must be at the ground floor. "Is this it? Or are we in the sub-sub-basement?"

"Nah, it's the ground floor. We're going to go out of the building and around the block. Shh..don't look too obvious. We will just sneak right past the dragon lady at the front desk. Follow me. I'm going to take my cane out, so you will hear me. Jack, you get the door, then bring up the rear."

With that, I hear Dave's cane unfold and snap, and Dad holds open the door while we file out to the lobby. The space is noisy and crowded, and I have to concentrate on the sound of Dave's cane. It's very confusing, and I call out for him to wait up. He stops, and I almost run into him. "Maybe this is a little much, Matt. Take my arm, here, and I'll get us out the front door."

"Yeah, it's a bit much, Dave. Thanks." I grab hold and he taps his way to the door, signals me to follow behind him, and the smells and sounds of the street hit me square in the face.


	17. Chapter 17

Accidental Hero

Chapter 17

"Oh, shit." It comes out before I even realize I was thinking it, barely after we get out the front door of St. Vincent's Hospital.

"What's the matter, Matt?" Dave Bryant guides me to the right to get me out of the doorway. My head is reeling from the sudden onslaught of the noise and smells of the street. I want to put my hands over my ears to make it stop, but I know that won't dampen the sirens and the blaring taxi horns.

"Are you okay, Matty?" Dad is right there beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

"It's just so _loud!" _It feels like I'm standing in the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve. The noise reverberates through my head, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. "Give me a minute, will ya?"

"Sure, Matt. We're in no hurry. Why don't you lean against this wall for a few?"

I put my back against the wall where Dave directs me. He takes my cane, and I put my hands on my knees and lean over to get my bearings. My head is pounding; my heart is racing. I don't want to faint.

"Breathe slowly. You don't want to hyperventilate. I know this is probably a big shock to your system. If you want, we can just go back inside." I can hear the concern in Dave's voice. "Believe me, you aren't the first client of mine to have a panic attack the first time out on the street, and you won't be the last. That's good, breathe deep."

I wrestle with my fear to calm myself down. My breathing evens out, and the nausea subsides. Dad is still right here beside me. I think he's as nervous as I am. "I'm okay, Dad." I give him a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Dave. It's...it's just such a racket out here!" Even if my breathing has returned to normal, the street noise hasn't.

"No sweat, Matt. Do you want to try to go around the block? We won't cross any streets or get out in the traffic. I really just thought you might want a little fresh air. Well, as fresh as New York City gets, anyway. Here's your cane. I want you to walk beside me. Right now, you can take my arm if you want. I'm going to be using my cane, so why don't you just follow along with me and listen. I want you to hear how the sounds are going to change out here from place to place. Okay?"

I catch myself nodding, then I answer, "Sure. Gotta start somewhere. One foot after the other, right?"

"You got it, Hollywood." Dave taps my right hand, and I latch onto his left arm. "We're standing in front of St. Vincent's, on West 12th Street. We're going to head west down to the end of this block, then turn south onto 6th Avenue. We'll turn again onto 11th and come east to 7th Avenue. Another right will bring us right back to the front of the hospital. It's not a long block. Ready to stretch your legs a little?"

"Yeah. Let's go." I fall in beside Dave, and listen as his cane hits the sidewalk in front of us. He's so smooth with this. I wonder how long it'll be before I can just head out on my own. I was finally old enough for Dad not to worry about me riding the bus or the subway by myself, and now we're starting all over again. Dammit.

Dave nudges me over a little to the right. "Matt, what I'm doing here is shorelining with the wall of the building. I'm not terribly close to the wall, because I know there are window air conditioners sticking out every few feet. I found that out the hard way the first time I came down here." He chuckles slightly. Thing about Dave, he certainly doesn't take himself too seriously. "Can you feel how the sidewalk is sloping down just a little here?"

I've got to pay attention. "Yeah, I think so."

"You'll get where it's very obvious to you before long. You're going to find out that there's a very subtle rise in the pavement in the middle of a street. They always slope toward the curb, because of the drainage. You can tell when you've gotten across the center of a street when you feel that downward slope. It's gradual, but you'll feel it." He slaps something to the right with his cane. We stop. "Now that...that is either a planter or a trash can next to the building. I travel this street all the time, so I know to stay a little ways away from the side of the building because when there is a doorway to the buildings, they have a planter or some sort of barrier on either side to warn you where the door is. Swing your cane over to the right. But let me get out of your way first!" He laughs. I do too, and connect with the obstacle. "That happens to be a planter, because we're next to the awning over this door. Use your cane, and walk to the sound of my voice. Listen how the sounds change when you get under the canopy."

I walk slowly toward him, and sure enough, I can tell a change when I'm under it. I hear Dad's leather soled shoes behind me. "You hear that Dad? It really does sound different."

"If you say so. I can't tell."

"Keep walking toward me, Matt. Remember to keep your cane centered on your belt buckle, and keep your head up."

I follow his voice; I hit the second planter on the far side of the same door, and walk around it. I hear the echo of my cane off the wall of the building to my right. The traffic is to my left, coming from behind me. My cane barely touches the wall on the swing to the right. I'm not making very good time, but I'm not falling on my face, either.

"Okay, Matt, you're lookin' good, buddy. Now listen to the change in the sound to your right. What do you notice? Stop for just a moment."

I stop and listen. I had just noticed that I had not touched the wall on the righthand swing. "Is it the end of the building? I don't feel the wall now, and it sounds like an open space. Is it an alley?"

"It's the end of the hospital building, yeah. But it's not an alley. Can you feel any wind coming around it?"

"No, not really."

"Alright. It's a setback where the next building is further from the street. If it was an alley or a street, you'd probably hear some traffic, or at least you'd be feeling the wind current between the buildings. It's something you'll learn to notice. What else do you hear?"

I concentrate on the sounds swirling around me. "The traffic is to my left. I think I hear some birds above me. A tree between me and the street?"

"Very good! It's even a little early and the leaves aren't really out on them yet. You'll really notice them when they're leafed out. Okay, follow me for a little farther, and we'll be at the corner. Stop when you think you're at the end of the building. If you're having a little trouble, just say something. Your dad is right behind you, and I'm going to be in front of you. You're doing great so far."

I can hear Dave's cane several steps ahead of me. I try to focus on the sound of mine, and the information I'm getting. I think I hear the cross traffic getting closer, so I anticipate the end of the building. "I must be close, Dave. I don't hear your cane any more." Now I hear and feel the wind around the corner just as I reach the end of the building. I stop again. "How was that?"

"Not bad, Slick. You've just completed the first side of the first block of your new career. How's that feel?"

I'm really pretty happy about it, and I can't help grinning. "Awesome! What's around the corner?"

"Well, come on around it, and you tell me, hotshot! You're now headed south on 6th Avenue." I take that as a sign that I'm doing okay so far. I turn the corner and hear a lot of truck engines to my left, idling at the curb. The building on my right sounds very solid, then gives way to some other buildings set further from the street. I think I'm veering to my right. I stop.

"Hey, Dave! Wait up."

"Okay. What can you tell me about where you are?"

"I think there's a restaurant or a grocery store over here to my right, cuz I smell food. I can't tell if I'm still going straight on the sidewalk, though. If I'm not close to a building, how do I keep in a straight line?"

"Practice! Don't worry about it just yet, you're doing fine. I'm going to drop back here beside you. This is a short block, so just take your time and if you have any doubts about something, just holler. Well, don't holler. I'm right here. Or, left here, to be more precise."

"Gotcha." I start off again, staying within what I think are the safe confines of the sidewalk. Dad's being very quiet, but I know he's back there. I'm downwind of his Old Spice at the moment.

"We're getting ready to take another right, Matt. Betcha can't tell me what's on this corner!"

Just then, it hits my nose. A little slice of heaven, but we've already had lunch. "Tell me that's not a pizza place, Dave." Geez that smells good.

"It's not _just_ a pizza place, dude. It's Ray's Pizza. The best."

"Oh, man! This close to the hospital, and I had no idea it was here." I round the corner, almost running into someone in a doorway. I hear him jump back out of the way of my cane, and he blows a cloud of cigarette smoke my way. Phew. Nice guy. I fan the air in front of me.

"Doing fine, Matt! We're heading east on 11th. Tell me what you're passing now."

I catch the scent of bay rum and cigar smoke, and hear men talking just inside the door. "A barber shop?"

"You're batting a thousand, Matt. What else do you hear?"

"The street is narrower here. I think there must be parked cars along it. Is this a fence here?" I've just struck something metallic that doesn't sound like a trash can. Yeah, it's a fence. "Must be some stoops along here, too. Right?"

"Yeah, and watch out for the..." Too late. "...cane-eating bushes." I find the shrubs, and they knock my cane out of my hand. It goes skittering down the sidewalk.

"Shit." I mutter under my breath. And it was going so well.

"I got it, Matty!" I hear Dad running after it. That was embarrassing. He puts it back in my hand, and Dave gets me reoriented to the sidewalk.

"Won't be the last time that happens, Matt. We'll talk later about how to find your cane if there's no one around to hand it back to you. I will say, though, that you have the proper grip on the cane, because if you'd been wrapping an iron fist around it, you'd have gotten a nice bruise when the handle caught you in the gut. That seems to be one of the big mistakes a lot of people make, and believe me, you'd rather have to chase your cane once in a while rather than get it caught in something and take a shot to the gut. It'll still happen, but not as often if you keep a looser grip."

"Why can't he put the strap on the end around his wrist? Isn't that what it's there for?" Dad speaks up.

"Not a good idea, Jack. That's there to hang it up by, like on a coat rack. If you looped it around your hand or your wrist, you'd possibly either hurt yourself or snap the cane in two if you caught it in the crack of a sidewalk or in the bushes like Matt did just now."

"Oh. Just wonderin'."

"Good point, though. So, Matt, don't choke up on that grip, okay? What you were doing was fine."

We start again, this time I move over just a bit so that I don't hang up in the bushes. The tree limbs creak overhead; must be some pretty big trees on this street. We pass several more fences and the stoops leading up to the apartments. Dave stops me before we get to the corner.

"Matt, I'm going to ask your dad to take you sighted guide around the corner and down this part of the block. I'm sure you've noticed a few sirens around. That side of the block is the ambulance entrance, and I'd prefer to have him take you past the loading docks there. You've done great! What do you think so far?"

"Yeah, I've been hearing them closer and closer. I've had one close encounter with a vehicle. Don't need another one." With that, Dad taps my hand, and I take his arm.

"I'm real proud of you, Matty. You did good today," Dad whispers in my ear. I squeeze his arm a little in reply. I drop behind him a half step, and we're on our way around the loading docks. The sidewalk is a little uneven in places, and he guides me through the obstacle course of parked vehicles and pedestrians. Before we know it, we're at the corner of 7th Avenue and 12th Street. I smell the hot dogs on a vendor's cart, along with the mustard and onions. I'm not hungry, but they do smell great.

"We've been gone long enough that someone might come looking for us, so I suggest you stay with Jack and we sneak on back into the hospital, okay, Matt?"

"Sure thing, Dave. This turned out a lot better than I thought it would at first, I gotta tell ya." A lot better. The first few feet were a nightmare. I almost thought I'd lose it back there.

"Even with the cane-eating bushes?" Dave chides me.

"Even with that. Next time's bound to be better, though." I sincerely hope I'm right about that.

"We're at the front door, Matty. Act all nonchalant and stuff, so they won't notice us."

"Right, Dad, like nobody notices a big burly prizefighter coming in with two blind guys." Just the thought of that makes me smirk. We get back into the lobby just fine and head for the elevators. No one seems the wiser. Dad hits the up button, and we say goodbye to Dave.

"When will I see you next, Dave? They told me you'd be working with me after I get home." I'm really happy about that fact.

"It'll be in a couple of days, Matt. We have to get on the schedule with them at the Lighthouse between times when the occupational therapist meets with you at home. I'll give you a call, okay?" He then slaps me on the shoulder with a friendly shove, and shakes hands with Dad. "See you guys soon, Jack. Take care." The elevator door opens and we step inside.

"Matt! It's Antoine, you know, from the other floor. Is this your dad?" He must have gotten on in the basement, because I didn't hear anyone get on with us.

"Jack Murdock, good to meet you."

"My pleasure sir! Battlin' Jack Murdock! I've heard about you in the ring. You've been having a pretty good run lately, from what I read in the papers." Antoine is gushing. It's sort of funny. I never think about Dad being anything close to famous.

"Hey, Antoine, glad we ran into you. I'm leaving tomorrow." I've been waiting to share that news with anyone who will listen.

"Great! Man, I can't believe I got to meet Battlin' Jack Murdock. This is awesome! Oh, this is my floor. Good luck to you, Matt! And you too, Mr. Murdock! Bye!" As the elevator doors shut, I hear him muttering to himself, "Battlin' Jack Murdock! Alright!" I feel Dad stand a little taller. Alright. I really am proud of the old man.

The elevator dings again, and it's our floor. I follow Dad back to my room, and we both collapse, laughing about Antoine's encounter with the famous Battlin' Jack Murdock. It's been a big day. Dad has to go to the gym, so he gets ready to leave.

"Need anything before I go, Matty?"

"Nah, Dad, I'm good. Bring me some clean clothes in the morning so I can look good for my homecoming party." We both laugh, and Dad gives me a big hug.

"See ya in the morning, son."

"Bye, Dad."


	18. Chapter 18

Accidental Hero

Chapter 18

After Dad leaves, I kick back in the recliner and realize just how tired that little walk around the block made me. That's the first time in over a week that I've actually been out on the street, well, since the accident. Man, my life sure changed overnight. I'd have never guessed in a million years that I'd ever be in this predicament. It's just really hitting home how different everything is going to be from now on. It's gonna take so much concentration to do every damn little thing. Suck it up, Matt. At least you aren't dead. That could have happened, as easily as this did. But it didn't. So get on with living.

Someone's coming. A knock on my door. "Have a good time taking the grand tour around our block? Oh...it's Sherry, the floor supervisor. Everything go okay?"

"Uh...yeah. Not bad." I must look puzzled, because I am. How did she know? Dave said we were sneaking out past the people at the front desk.

"Great! Dave said he was going to take you out and around the block. It's a really nice day for that. Can I get you anything? Orange juice? A soda? I'm on my way to get something for someone else."

"A Coke? That would be good. I'm a little thirsty."

"Sure thing. I'll be right back." Her footsteps fade down the hall. Dave, you sly bastard! Had me going, thinking we were being sneaky and shit. I smile, put my hands behind my head, and stare up at the ceiling. Well, not _stare_, I guess. That's not the right word for it anymore. What would you call it? I think about the day's adventures, and how it's going to be to go home, finally. Sherry comes back with my Coke. She knocks on the door.

"Matt? Here's your Coke." She hands me the cold can. I pop the top and take a big gulp. "Your chart says that they are going to send you home tomorrow. I bet you're more than ready to go, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Understatement of the year. "As nice as everyone has been to me, I'll be glad to get home."

"Well, hospitals are never a fun place to be. It's good to see how well you've done in so short a time." She moves toward the door. "Just call if you need anything else, okay?"

I wave. "Thanks. I appreciate the soda." She's gone, and I'm alone with my thoughts again. I lean back in the chair and think about how I'm going to have to learn to read. How long is that going to take? I run my hands over the vinyl covering on the chair, and feel the gritty texture that I guess must be there to make it look like it's cloth. Certainly doesn't feel anything like cloth. I sip my Coke and hear the bubbles popping in the can. I never noticed that before. I listen for anyone in the hall, and let out a muffled belch.

Suppose there will be a lot of stuff I notice now. Just walking around this block, there were things that I would have never paid any attention to before. Like how the sidewalk had that slight downward angle to the end of the block. Or how the wind comes around the corners of buildings. Yeah, I've noticed it when it was really cold out, and the wind was howling. But not really when it was a nice day. The pigeons make a lot more noise than I ever thought about, too. Plus, I could smell the birdshit under the trees. I know they keep that cleaned up, especially around a hospital. I could still smell it. Or maybe it was the sewer. I dunno. Sure wasn't too nice. Not like the smell of Ray's Pizza place. Now that's a smell I could identify with. Mmm...

The phone rings. I jump straight up, almost spilling my soda. It rings again, and I search for it on the nightstand, fumbling the receiver slightly. "Hello?"

"Matt? It's Krissy. How's it going?"

Wow, I can't believe she's calling me. "Pretty good, Krissy! I get to go home tomorrow!" My pulse has sped up. All over this girl calling?

"That's fantastic! So, you're feeling okay now?" She sounds a little cautious, like maybe she shouldn't be calling me, or like her mom might be mad about it if she found out.

"Oh, yeah. I even got to go outside today with my mobility instructor and my dad. We just walked around the block, nothing special." Geez, Matt. You sound like such a moron. "It's really nice to hear from you, Krissy. I'm really surprised." Even worse, dumbass. I slap my forehead.

"What's a mobility instructor?" Somehow, I don't think this is any easier for her than it is for me.

"He's the guy who's teaching me how to use a cane and find my way around. He'll be working with me a lot when I get home so I can learn to navigate the buses and the subways around town." I'm talking way too fast.

"Isn't that kind of scary? I mean...how...uh...aren't you afraid to go out by yourself?"

I try to act like it's no big deal. "Nah, I'm not by myself. Not yet anyway. Dave, that's my instructor, he's blind, too, and he gets around just fine. Wont' be long until I'm tearing up the sidewalks myself." If only I believed that.

"Wait...your instructor is blind? Like, _totally_ blind? Wh..?" Oops, I think she's freaking.

"No, he's just legally blind. He's got a little vision left, but he's losing it. He's really a cool guy, though. I'm guessing, but I'd say he's probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He brought me a pair of sunglasses today." I pause.

She hesitates. "That's cool. Well, I haveta go, Matt. Can I call you after you get home? C..can I have your number?"

I hold the phone away from my ear, like I'm looking at it and can't believe what just came out of it. Did I just have a girl ask for MY number? Holy shit. I put the receiver back to my ear. "Sure, if you want. It's 555-8219. Just don't call after about nine, because my dad wouldn't be too thrilled about that."

"Okay...555-8219. Got it! See ya, Matt!"

"Bye, Krissy." Click. She's gone. Damn. I really like her voice. She seems a lot more real than her prissy friend Jenny. That girl sounds like a commercial for toothpaste or something. Too smiley for her own good. But Krissy, she sounds like the real deal. Wonder if she really will call. I hope that her friend didn't put her up to it. Nah...I don't think so. At least I hope not.

-o-

After a decent supper of baked chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, and banana pudding, I decide to flip on the tv to combat the boredom. Nothing much is on; the news is covering the presidential primaries, and Dukakis is duking it out with the Reverend Jesse Jackson for the Democratic nomination. Wonder what would happen if we elect a black president? What if we have President Dukakis? That sounds like you got something hung in your throat. Du-KAH-kus. Weird name. Nah, Bush is gonna get re-elected as President. Dad's not too happy with Reagan right now. I don't think he'll vote for Bush this time either. I flip the channels; freakin' Wheel of Fortune. I hate that show. The sound of that wheel clacking drives me nuts. That, and how stupid people can be with one letter missing and still screw up and lose. Click. Entertainment Tonight. Who gives a crap about Tom Cruise? Guy's all teeth and no brains. Click. I settle on ESPN and listen to the reports on baseball spring training for a while. I'm just not into tv at the moment, so I turn it off.

Maybe I'll listen to the radio, try to drown out all the coughing and noise coming from the other rooms in the hall. Good, at least it came up on the right station this time. I pace around the room, trailing the walls with my hand, stopping at the window every once in a while, feeling the glass getting cooler as the sun goes down. I check my watch; it's about seven. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night. I pour myself a cup of water from the pitcher on the bed table, and pace some more as Whitney Houston sings "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". Seems like one of her songs comes up every few minutes any more. I sit in the recliner again and my mind starts to wander. Too many things to think about.

-o-

I don't know how long I've been daydreaming or soul-searching or whatever you want to call it when someone comes to the door. I tell them to come in.

"Hey, Matt! It's Dennis! How's it going with you?" He sounds like he bounces when he walks, very quick, light steps, and he wears a really loud aftershave. Not sure what it is, but it's strong. I'm glad he's come by. I smile in his direction.

"Pretty good! I'm gonna go home tomorrow. I can't wait." It can't come soon enough.

"You're looking all jazzed up in those shades, man. Looks like you're ready to take on the ladies." He slaps my shoulder good-naturedly. "Gonna have them lined up trying to take you across the street."

Ow. That was a low blow. I try to fake a smile and have a snappy comeback. "Oh, yeah. They say a white cane is like a chick magnet. Guess I'll see...uh...I'll find out if that's true." I look down. I know he didn't mean anything by it, but it sort of stings. I recover and add, "Plus, I'll have an excuse to cop the occasional feel, y'know?"

Dennis must have noticed his joke went a little flat. He lets out a weak laugh, and tries again. "You know, Matt, I'll never forget us goofing around with the balloons that night. Honestly, I was in a terrible mood when I came to work, and that probably did me more good than it did you. It's a night I'll always remember, mainly from that look on your face when you started talking with the helium. Man, that was priceless." I can hear the smile on his face. I'm pretty sure he means it.

"That was pretty funny, yeah. I couldn't believe we did that, and didn't get caught. I figured someone would come in and get all huffy about it." I'm grinning for real now, thinking about that.

He laughs more easily. "Well, I was careful to make sure the nuns weren't around. Some of them are pretty straight-laced. Most of the nurses are cool, though. We tend to have a sense of humor, or else the job would really get to us." He clears his throat, and takes a more serious tone. "Anyway, I wanted to come by and check up on you. You're probably my first celebrity patient, so I thought I'd stop in and wish you the best."

"Thanks, Dennis. I appreciate you being there when I needed you. Embarrassing stuff happens in the hospital, I've found out the hard way." I look away from him. "Really embarrassing stuff when you can't see what you're doing. Actually, it sucks." I nervously run my hand through my hair. "But good people like you were there for me. That means a lot."

"Well, Matt, it's my job, but it's also been my pleasure to meet you. Take care now, and good luck to you."

I extend my hand and he grasps it with a firmer handshake than I would have guessed from the way he talks. "Bye, Dennis. See ya 'round." With that, his light tread and funky aftershave fade down the hall to the elevator.

-o-

Time to get ready for bed, so I put my sunglasses on the nightstand next to the phone, get my pajamas out of the drawer and go into the bathroom to change. I find the box with the occlusers and stick one over each eye. I hang my clothes up in the closet, and set my shoes next to the bed. It'll be good to get back to my own lumpy mattress. This one is terrible. I feel like the princess and the pea when I try to sleep here. I feel every bump in the mattress. I stretch out and put my hands behind my head and start thinking again about tomorrow. I'm not sleepy, and I don't want to turn the tv on again. I don't even want to listen to the radio right now. There's just too much sound around me. I've really got to learn to tune it out. I flip the crystal up on my watch and check the time. Ten thirty. I really hope Sister Maggie comes by tonight. I'd like to tell her goodbye. Hope Amanda is on duty, too. Wouldn't mind getting a goodbye hug from her. Heh.

Well, speak of the devil. Not really, that was a bad phrase to use. I hear Sister Maggie just outside. She must keep her rosary in her pocket, because I hear it click when she walks. I sit up in the bed. It occurs to me that I never turned the light out. Not that I can tell the difference, but at least she can tell I'm still awake.

"Is that you, Sister Maggie?" I ask just as she taps on the doorframe. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit on the edge.

"You've got some sharp ears on you, Matthew. That's good." I think she's just standing in the doorway.

"May I come in?"

"Of course! I'm always happy to see...uh...talk to you. Please, have a seat." I gesture toward the chair. It scrapes back a little and I hear the plastic seat cushion sigh as she settles into it. "I'm going home tomorrow."

"Yes! I read that in your chart, and wanted to make certain I got a chance to drop by and talk to you before you leave. How are you feeling? Is everything going well...as well as you expect it to?" Her voice is soft and soothing. I imagine what it might have been like to have someone like her for a mother. She probably could have been a good one if she hadn't become a nun.

"Uh...well...I--I don't know what I should be expecting, Sister. I think I'm doing okay, all things considered, don't you?" I really don't know if I am or not. I sit on the edge of the bed and swing my feet. I feel like I'm five years old or something.

"According to your charts, it does look like you've done remarkably well medically, Matthew. You seem to have recovered quickly from the trauma of the accident. I think what I'm asking might be more about how your thoughts are these days. Got anything on your mind that you might want to talk about? I'm here to listen, and you know it won't go anywhere outside this room, alright?" She leans across and touches my knee. I stop swinging my feet. It'd be terrible if I kicked a nun.

"Okay, I guess." I take a deep breath. And...out with it. "Sister Maggie, am I being punished for something I did? Is that why this happened to me?"

I hear something like a gasp from her. "No, child! God doesn't work like that! Contrary to what some people might say, our Father isn't vindictive like that. What made you think such a thing?"

"Because Dad made me promise to never fight, and to just study all the time, be a doctor or a lawyer or something and I've been sneaking around at the gym when he's not there, trying to work out some to keep from being a doormat. I lied about it, saying I was at the library. I go there plenty, too, and I have the grades to prove it, but I still lied to him. Now I've let him down. I--I'm just a sorry sack of sh...stuff." Oh, crap. Where did all this come from all of a sudden. I hear a tissue sliding out of a box, and Sister Maggie puts it in my hand. I blow my nose, and am glad the occlusers are there to hide the tears, although I grit my teeth because the saltiness stings as it soaks into the gauze pads.

"Now, Matthew, what you just told me isn't nearly as bad as most things I've heard that young men your age get into. Granted, you shouldn't have lied to your father, but it's hardly a capital offense. I mean, God is a forgiving one, and if you know the difference between right and wrong, and realize what you did is wrong, you can ask His forgiveness. Nobody in his right mind should say you deserved what happened to you, understand?"

"Y-y-yes ma'am." I'm embarrassed that I'm sniffling like this. "I've thought about a lot of stuff, and part of it was that I had really screwed up and this was somehow payback. I mean, now I'm just going to be a burden on my dad. It's just him and me, and now this..."

She stands up and puts her hands on my shoulders, gently. "It's okay, Matthew." She draws me close in a motherly embrace, and I put my head on her shoulder. "Let it out. It's okay." I can feel the steady rhythm of her heart. Or do I _hear_ it?

For just a moment, it _is_ okay. Then I slowly push away from her. "I'm sorry, Sister Maggie. I'm acting like a baby." I straighten up on the bed and lean back on my hands. She takes another tissue from the box and I assume she's wiping her own eyes, although her voice is steady.

"No, you're not. You're acting like anybody would when something this life-altering happens. It's normal, natural. Nothing at all to be ashamed of, you hear? You've shown remarkable strength in this whole ordeal. It's evident in your progress. There's a huge mind and body connection. To me, you are one of the strongest people I've ever seen in these circumstances. Here, I want you to have something to take home with you." She pulls the rosary out of her pocket; I hear the beads. She puts it in my hand, and closes her hand around mine. "God has something special in mind for you. Don't forget that. Do you know how to pray the rosary?"

"Yes, ma'am. I went to catechism."

"Good. Well, I hope that when you feel alone, or distressed, that you'll remember what I said, and maybe even use these once in a while. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, Sister. I will. Thank you." She drops her hand, and stands up.

"God be with you, Matthew. Bye, now." She slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I finger the smooth beads and the metal crucifix. "I'll do my best, Sister." I clutch them to my chest, and try to remember how to pray the rosary.

Tomorrow will be a big day.

-o-

I wake up suddenly with the sound of someone coming into my room. "I need to draw some blood, Mr."-- I hear papers shuffle-- "Murdock. Sorry to disturb you." Yeah, right. Why is it that you don't get to rest when you're in the hospital? Someone is always coming in to poke or prod around on you. Why should tonight be any different?

I sit up and catch myself just before I rub my eyes. "What time is it?" I should wear my watch to bed.

She sets something on the bed beside me. Glass rattling in some sort of rack, test tubes? "It's about 3:30 in the morning. I need to get this to the lab so the results will be back when the doctor comes in to see you before you leave. Sorry I had to wake you up. I'm the person nobody wants to see coming."

"Believe me, I wouldn't have seen you coming." That was a little snarky, Matt. Don't piss off the person about to stick you. As she puts the rubber band thing around my arm, which pinches like hell, I switch gears and ask her something that I hadn't thought about until just now. "I know there has to be a job name for what you do. What is it?" She's good; I barely feel the needle. Better than most at this.

"Besides blood-sucking vampire? The technical name for what I do is phlebotomist. A big word for... blood-sucking vampire," she chuckles, snapping the tops onto what I guess are the tubes of blood.

"Flea-bottom-ist? That sounds weird. Surely you don't spell it like it sounds."

She releases the band, pulls out the needle and sticks a bandage on my arm. "It's p-h-l-e, not f-l-e-a. Everybody gets it wrong. I usually just say I work in the lab at the hospital. Freaks some people out when they find out you draw blood for a living. Can't imagine why," she deadpans. Wish I'd had her more often. Some of these people just would come in, grab my arm, and start sticking me. At least this lady has a sense of humor. I like that. "Thank you, Mr. Murdock, and good night." She shuts the door after herself, but I barely get my head back on the pillow when someone else comes into the room.

"Matthew Murdock! What are you doing still up?" A wave of floral perfume precedes her into the room. It's Amanda, the night nurse. I smile. Hot damn. Who says dreams don't come true?

"I wasn't up, I promise! The flea-bottom-ist (I trip over the pronunciation) was just here. I've been asleep, really!" I hear her coming closer to the bed. I wonder if she looks as hot as she smells. Hmm.

"Well, your light has been on since I came on duty. I don't have you as a patient tonight, or I'd have come over to check on you sooner." She stops, hesitates, then catches her own mistake. "Uh, I guess you wouldn't have known that, though. Sorry."

I brush it off. "No problem. Say, I'm going home in the morning! I'm glad you stopped in. I hoped I'd get to say goodbye to you." And I'd love to have another special Amanda hug, too. But I can't say that.

"Great news! I'm sure you're ready."

"Yes, ma'am. Have to say I am. Not that I don't thank everyone for being so nice to me. You've been great." And I'll remember _you _for a long time. "I'm sure you'll be glad not to have to chase the blind kid back to his room any more." I grin up at her. Matt, you're such a dork. Shut. Up.

Amanda laughs, and that's good. At least I didn't come off like a little perve, maybe. Before I realize it, she's leaning over me and giving me a good-natured squeeze on my arm. I'd love to return the favor. She turns to go, and I hear the light click off. "Good night, Matthew, and I hope things work out well for you." The door shuts, and all I have left of Amanda is her fragrance lingering in the room.

"Bye." I sigh and roll over, and hope I can go back to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Accidental Hero

Chapter 19

I guess I must be too excited about going home to really sleep. I think I'll just give up on it and go take a shower before things start to happen. The doctors usually make rounds pretty early, so I'll have time to get ready before he gets here and before breakfast comes.

Dad must have brought every pair of underwear I own when he brought me some clothes last time. I find the clean ones, a fresh pair of socks, and a t-shirt and head into the bathroom for a shower. As I strip off my pajamas, I think about how far I've come in the past week, when I took that first shower that hurt so bad. Now, it seems like this is the only place where I can get a little reprieve from all the noise around me.

The steam heats up the bathroom, and I step into the shower, hoping to wash some of the hospital stink off me. I'll be glad to get home where I've got that good old Dial soap instead of this sticky sweet smelling gunk they gave me here. It smells like some old lady on the subway, the one carrying a huge purse and a tattered umbrella who swats at you if she thinks you're too close to her. It'll be nice to get back to using some regular shampoo, too. What they have here seems to leave my hair all scuzzy. God knows what it must look like. Probably sticks out all over the place, looking like freakin' Alfalfa or something.

I towel off, peel the occlusers off my face, get dressed, except for my jeans that are still in the locker, and comb my hair with my fingers. Somebody moved my toothbrush; must have been housekeeping while I was out yesterday. I pat around on the sink until I find it on the opposite side of the faucet from where I know I left it. I squirt a dab of toothpaste onto my finger like Miss Jewel taught me, but I skip a step, raking it off my finger onto my bottom teeth. What's wrong with doing it that way? One less chance for it to fall off the toothbrush, right? Works for me.

Gotta remember to gather up all my stuff to take home. I take the toothbrush and toothpaste with me back to the closet, where I retrieve my jeans and pull out my duffel bag. I slip on my jeans, and fold up my pajamas and the rest of my clothes, get the box of occlusers from the drawer of the night table, slide my shades on, buckle the watch on my wrist and check the time. Barely past six. The window glass is still cold from the night air. The city is coming alive out there; the traffic noise drifts up from the streets. Really going to have to learn to shut out a lot of this commotion. The walls in our building are pretty thin; how am I supposed to sift through the noise? Guess that's a good question for Dave later.

I suppose I could watch the early news. Nothing else to do. I find the remote and think how this one doesn't work anything like the one we have at home. Crap. Something else I'm going to have to learn. The littlest damn thing requires so much effort now. Flipping through the channels, I settle on the Today Show and hear Willard Scott talk about the weather across the country. Sounds like we might be in for one more cold snap before spring is really here. How do you manage with gloves on when you're blind? Seems like you need your hands so much more, and gloves would be in the way. Shouldn't need to worry about that until next winter, though. Damn. Snow. How do you use a cane when it's snowing like the devil outside? Just plow through the drifts? How many times am I gonna bust my ass because I can't tell there's ice on the steps? Too much stuff to deal with here. I feel like my mind is on overload, not knowing what to expect any more. Going from the frying pan into the freaking fire. I've had it too damn easy here in the hospital. As bad as I want to get out of here, I have no idea how things will be when I get home.

-o-

I've been lost inside my own head for a while when I hear—and smell—the big food service cart come off the elevator. When you're waiting for something to happen, it seems like it takes for_ever_ for people to do things. Since I'm halfway down this hall, it's a while before the server gets to me. I count the doors she opens, listen to her cheerful little "food service" greeting at each room, and hear how grumpy some of these other people are around here. They don't even have the decency to say thanks! Probably have someone to wait on them at home, too. Bunch of old farts.

My turn. "Food service!" How does she stay upbeat like that? I smile in her direction.

"Great, thank you! I'll pull the tray table over here so I can use the chair, if that's okay."

"Let me bring it around for you." The dishes clatter as she rolls the wheeled table around to the far side of the bed, near the window where the chair is, and takes the lid off the platter for me. "I'll just set this cover on the bedside table next to the phone. Enjoy!" I wave another thanks at her.

Let's see. Got bacon and French toast, and I guess this little box is cereal but when I shake it, I can't tell anything other than it sounds more like flakes than Cheerios. Hope they're Frosted Flakes and not that bran crap. Ugh. Spare me. I don't know how the old man eats that stuff. The box it comes in would have to taste better. Orange juice and milk. The carton of milk is really cold; that's good, should be fresh. I take care of the bacon first, then decide I won't risk getting syrup on me with the French toast. I dump the cereal into the bowl, and it surprises me by being Rice Crispies. They snap, crackle and pop when I carefully add the milk. I don't remember this stuff being this loud before. Makes a case for sticking with oatmeal. At least cereal is easy enough for even me to fix. I won't starve.

-o-

I've been flipping channels again when Dr. Pruitt shows up. I turn off the TV when I hear his knock on the door, because I heard him talking to a nurse out in the hall a moment ago. "Today's the day!"

"Certainly is, Matthew! Looks like you're ready to bust outta this joint, huh?" He's in a good mood. I hear him shuffling papers. "Your blood tests look good, nothing out of the ordinary. No more trouble with that—uh—urinary problem, is there?"

I'd almost forgotten about that. "No, seems fine. So, I guess those chemicals are out of my system, more or less?" He's scribbling notes on a page.

He clears his throat. "As far as we can tell, Matthew. Since we never really had a case like yours before, there are still a few questions that we don't exactly have answers to." That didn't sound good.

"Like what? Like whether or not something else is gonna go wrong later?" Shit. Will I go deaf, too? I think I'd go jump off the roof if that happened.

"We don't anticipate anything else. Like I said, yours is a case without precedent. We'll want to follow your progress in the years to come."

"You're not talking about keeping me like a lab rat, are you, Doc?" I make a very weak joke out of this, but I'm not really laughing. If they knew that I've started to notice some weird things, they probably would find an excuse to keep me here for tests. No way I'm going to tell them anything. I'm not even sure if what I'm going through is "normal" or not when somebody goes blind.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. We just might want to have you come in once in a while for us to check on you." Uh huh. What I thought. Treat me like I came from Area 51. Not if I can help it.

"Suppose you'll have to talk to my dad about that, sir. In fact, I think I hear him coming down the hall now." Actually, I do, and I smell the Old Spice, too. He hesitates before he comes in. I guess he's nervous about today, too.

"Hey, Dr. Pruitt! Hiya, Matty! You're all ready to go, aren't you?" His aftershave stops next to the doctor. I think they shake hands. God, I'm glad he's here.

"Is the Pope Catholic?" That gets a laugh out of both of them. I can't let them know how nervous I am.

"Hold your horses, son. I know there's got to be some paperwork and stuff done before they let you leave, right, Doc?" Dad gives me a good-natured poke in the arm. I grin up at him.

"Yes, Mr. Murdock. We have some formalities to go through, and the social worker will want to speak to you before you both leave. Do you have any questions for me? Matthew and I have already talked a little about things."

"Uh—well—yes. Is Matt going to have to take any sort of medicine now? We don't have insurance, and I need to know what to plan for." Dad is fidgeting, shuffling his feet.

"No, he seems to be doing very well, as he's not having any pain, his scars seem to be healing, and all his blood tests seem to be normal for a young man his age. I don't think you have any worries about that. His recovery has been quite remarkable, in fact. We're all very thankful for that."

"What about the future, Doc?" So, I'm not the only one thinking about that.

"We talked a little about that, Mr. Murdock. Our team here at St. Vincent's would like to have you bring Matthew in for a checkup every few months, so we can monitor his progress. It's fairly standard procedure, and we can probably get a grant to cover the costs of any testing." Uh oh. Talking about that testing stuff again. I'm not going to stand still for any more of that if I can help it at all.

Dad hesitates for a moment, then says, "I sure wanna thank everyone here for taking such good care of my boy. You've all been great. Haven't they, Matty?" I nod in agreement. "We appreciate everything you've done."

"It's been our privilege to do it, guys." He shakes my hand, and starts for the door. "I'll go file this paperwork, and after you talk to Ms. Fitzpatrick, you should be good to go. Bye, now."

"He's a good man, Matty." Dad sighs. "Wonder how much longer we have to wait?" He sits down on the edge of my bed. "Wait—where'd you get this?"

"Get what, Dad?" Then I hear the click of the rosary beads when he picks them up off the bed. I forgot that I went to sleep holding them last night. They must have fallen onto the sheets.

"This rosary." It sounds like he's holding it out for inspection.

"Oh! One of the nuns gave it to me. Sister Maggie—she's also a nurse here—she's visited me a few times when I couldn't sleep. Nice lady. Too bad more of the nuns I've met aren't more like her."

My old man inhales sharply, like someone just punched him in the gut. "M-Maggie? What did she look like? Oh, shit, son, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. How old was this Sister Maggie? Best guess."

I feel like he's looking at me like I just shot him or something. What's with him? "It's okay, Dad. I couldn't really tell. She had a soft voice, though. For all I know, she could be a hundred. Why?"

He's breathing rapidly, and I swear I can smell him sweating. What's going on here?

"Oh, nothing, Matty, never mind. Here ya go, put this in your pocket. I'm sure you don't want to lose it." I hold out my hand and he drapes it across my palm. I finger the small beads a moment before I stuff it in my front pocket. He's sure acting weird.

Hold that thought. I hear the social worker out at the nurses' station asking for my chart. As if on cue, Ms. Fitzpatrick comes in, all official-like. I can imagine her with her clipboard and glasses on a chain around her neck, like an old librarian. Funny how I'm starting to make up things about how people might look. Makes me wonder how close I actually get sometimes.

"Good morning, Mr. Murdock," she sniffs. "Matthew." I catch myself rolling my eyes. "I think you remember me, Dana Fitzpatrick. I'm your case worker here."

"Yes, ma'am, we do," Dad replies gruffly. He doesn't like being talked down to any more than I do.

She gets straight to business. "I have already talked to the rehabilitation people over at the Lighthouse for the Blind, and you—Matthew—have been assigned to Estelle Foster, our occupational therapist, who will be over to see you tomorrow and evaluate your living environment. Will that be suitable for you, Mr. Murdock?"

"As long as we can get everything done by three, I'm good. After that, I have to get to the gym for a workout."

"Hmph. Well, I'm sure that can be arranged, Mr. Murdock, but surely you're not planning on leaving Matthew home alone just yet, are you? This is not advisable." Her tone can't be any more sarcastic.

"Of course not, _Miz_ Fitzpatrick. We have a neighbor lady who will stay with Matt while I'm out. She's known him ever since he was a baby, lived in our building all these years. She'll be happy to do it."

"Daaad! I don't need a babysitter!" I'm not five freaking years old!

"Of course you don't, young man, but you haven't had a lot of training on how to take care of yourself yet, and we can't let you get hurt when your father isn't there. Why, you could fall off the fire escape or something!" She jots notes on her clipboard. "We will have to make certain that this neighbor of yours is able and willing to accept this responsibility, Mr. Murdock. Otherwise, I might have to take this case to Child Protective Services if you are unable to prove Matthew is looked after properly." She sniffs again. I bet Dad would love to belt her one. I know I would. Jeez.

"Child Protec—what? I've taken care of Matt since he was a baby, when his mother—died. Don't tell me I can't take care of my own son." Yeah, he's pissed off, alright. You go, Dad. Tell her.

"Simmer down, Mr. Murdock. I didn't mean any offense, and I'm sorry if you took that wrong. It's a matter of procedure, is all. Here, I need you to sign these forms, and I'll get things settled with the Lighthouse for tomorrow. Oh, and, Matthew, you will continue with Dave Bryant as your orientation and mobility instructor. He has expressed his wish to work with you after your release from the hospital, if that suits you."

"Yes, ma'am, that's fine. Dave and I hit it off real well." At least that job isn't going to someone new.

"_Mister _Bryant will be calling you probably this afternoon to set up a schedule for your training. He and Mrs. Foster will coordinate things so your time spent with them doesn't overlap. I'll also see that you are assigned a counselor over at the Lighthouse so you can start braille lessons right away. Any questions?" She slaps her pen down on her clipboard, and it skitters across the floor. Hope she doesn't expect me to chase it for her. Witch.

Dad retrieves it. "Here ya go, _Miz_ Fitzpatrick. No, I think we're good for now." I think he's as ready to be done with her as I am.

"Good day, then." She shuts the door a little too hard behind her. Blam!

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass, lady." Dad mutters under his breath. "Must be on the rag today." I heard him just fine.

-o-

We wait around a little longer, then one of the nurses comes in. "Ready to go, Matthew?"

"You know it!"

"Well, we have a little something for you before you take off. Mr. Murdock, would you and Matt please come down to the day room?"

I look at Dad as if to say what the heck? I assume he shrugs, because he just grabs my bag and says, "Don't forget your cane over there, son. We can go sighted guide if you'd like."

"Yeah, I think that's easiest right now, Dad. You know, I won't miss this place at all." He laughs.

When we get out in the hall, I can tell there are a lot of people down in the day room. They try to be quiet, but I can hear them all breathing. "What's this? A going away party? For me?"

"SURPRISE!" A whole chorus of people yells in unison. Ow! Are they trying to wake the dead?

One of the nurses speaks up. "We thought we'd take this opportunity to have ice cream and cake, so you gave us a good excuse. The cake is chocolate, with white icing and blue letters that say 'Good luck, Matthew' and your high school sent over a balloon bouquet and a card signed by your classmates. We all want you to know that you really are a hero to us for what you did for that elderly fellow."

I know I'm blushing. I stammer out my thanks, and someone pushes a plate and a fork into my hands. I'm sure they didn't think this through, because I'm too embarrassed to eat it in front of them. "I really do appreciate this, but I'm really in a little bit of a hurry to get home. I hope you understand." Dad takes the plate and disposes of it somehow, and the crowd begins to disperse. After they get cake.

We turn to go, and I hear, "Not so fast, Matthew. You have to take the ride." It's Antoine, and he's got a damn wheelchair. Crap.

"Can't I walk out of here on my own? I'm perfectly able," I plead.

"No, sir. Hospital policy. Everybody takes the ride to the front door. No exceptions." He says this with a big smile in his voice. I climb in, hand Dad my cane, and we're off. At least it's not Eddie, the bobsledder wannabe.

I hear Dad wrestling with the balloons in the elevator. I'm sure he's not too pleased about that. "Hey, Dad," I nudge him, "when we get outside, you can accidentally lose those things before we get in the cab, right?"

He chuckles. "You're reading my mind, Matty boy." Antoine stifles a smirking laugh.

Ding! We're at the main floor lobby. The door opens and all manner of hell breaks loose. I hear the same whirring of cameras that happened when the mayor was here. Who tipped off the media that I was going home? I hear Dad let out a frustrated "Aw, shit." What I think, too.

"Matthew! How are you feeling?" With my hands, knuckleheads. Whaddya think?

"Matthew! What are you going to do now that you're going home?"

I wince at all the static around me and wish I could become invisible. That would be a great superpower to have right now. "Don't think I'm going to Disneyworld, guys." Antoine and Dad try to shield me from the press, and we run the gauntlet out to the street to catch a cab.

"There's a cab at the curb, Mr. Murdock. Let me make sure it's empty for you." Antoine goes to check, and must be signaling to Dad that it's all clear. Dad taps me on the arm; I get the hell out of the wheelchair and the balloons sail off into the air, bouncing against each other on the way up. Good riddance. The thought was nice, but we don't need to be worrying with those. The door of the cab opens; I duck inside and slide over to make room as Dad follows me.

"Three-fifty-four West 47th Street." Dad gives our address to the cabbie who just grunts an acknowledgement.

Mixed with the usual aroma of humanity in this cab, I get an overwhelming scent of expensive perfume, something I know I've never smelled before. "Wow, Dad. There must have been some really fancy lady in here recently. You get a whiff of that?"

The cabdriver speaks up before Dad has a chance to reply. "Oh, yeah! My last fare was this gorgeous dame—a beautiful redhead, with a foreign accent, like Russian or sumthin'. Boy, what a knockout! Made my day. Plus, she was a good tipper. Just gettin' to see that fine ass goin' down the street after she got out woulda been enough of a tip, though, ya know?" He ends with a lecherous chuckle.

"Hey! Watch your mouth in front of my boy here, fella!"

"Hey! I'm just sayin'! Don't get all uptight about it. I didn't mean nuthin'."

"It's okay, Dad. I'm fifteen, remember? I've seen pretty women before." Good thing, since I never will again. I lean back in the seat and try to connect this scent with the description we just got. Nice, yeah.

It's not very far to our apartment, but traffic is always snarled up in this city. I have all sorts of thoughts run through my head on the ride home, and before I know it, the driver stops and says, "Here ya go, Mack. That'll be $7.50."

Dad peels the bills out of his wallet. He counts them out to the driver, singles. "Keep the change."

"Wow, four bits! Gee thanks, mister!" He blows a foul cloud of smoke in our direction.

I clamber out of the cab after Dad, and he slams the door shut. The driver squeals away from the curb. We stand in front of our building, and Dad hands me my cane. "Here we are Matty. Home sweet home."

I draw in a deep breath and follow him up the steps into the building. The walls smell musty in the stairwell, but as we get closer to our fourth floor home, the aroma of fresh-baked cookies greets us. When we reach our floor, Aunt Grace comes out to meet us.

She grabs me up in a big hug, almost knocking me over. "Oh, Matt! I'm so glad to see you back home! I made you some chocolate chip cookies! Let me put some on a plate for you."

"Good to see you too, Aunt Grace! I'll be more than happy to eat some, too. Hope we have milk, huh, Dad?" She runs into her apartment as we head on down the hall. Dad fumbles around for his keys, and she comes back, giving him the platter with the hot cookies on it.

"Thanks so much, Grace. I hope you'll excuse us now, because Matty's been anxious to get home. I'll bring your plate back in a little bit, okay?"

"Sure, Jack. Now, you get some rest, Matt. We can talk later. Bye now!" She bustles off down the hall, and her door squeaks shut. I follow Dad into our place. I stop in the middle of the living room. It sounds so small.

Dad shuts the door and turns the lock. He slumps against the door like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but there's a smile in his voice when he says, "Welcome home, son."

-o-

Epilogue:

Across the street, a grizzled old man in a beat up ball cap stands looking up toward the fourth floor of 354 West 47th Street. He smiles and says, "Yeah, he'll do."

And an accidental hero begins his journey.

-o-

A/N I hope you have enjoyed reading my version of the beginning of Matt Murdock's journey to becoming a superhero. Stan Lee only gave us maybe a page of comic from the time Matt had the accident to the time he graduated with honors. I'm inclined to think there was more to it than that, and I'll continue the saga with a new sequel soon. Thanks for reading!


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